


Two Rooms

by Redisaid



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Canon, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, I promise, I think we'll call this, Medium Burn, Now complete with sexy times, Remember when I said I wouldn't do Sylvaina, There's a plot now, Yeah that lasted a whole 3 days, political marriage au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid
Summary: Sylvanas was sure she had taken herself off the table. She made quite the case for how terrible of a marriage partner she would make, even if it meant losing a bit of faith with the rest of the members of this new pact. Of course, even then, no one had expected Jaina to volunteer.





	1. Just a Wall Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit Rey!

Sylvanas never imagined that she would receive anything other than a scowl by saying, “I have a surprise for you.” 

So when she got an intrigued eyebrow lift instead, she counted that as something of a triumph. Well, that was hardly fair. An incredible triumph, really, considering that it was Jaina she was surprising, and Jaina who actually seemed eager to see what the surprise was. 

They were walking the newly built walls of the keep of New Lordaeron. A castle for a city, born of both old and new. The stones of old ruins, on the foundation of a new alliance. Well, alliance was still a word with too much sting to it. Coalition? Sure. Partnership? Maybe. Whatever you might call...this.

When they discovered the true might of the old god N’zoth, just as their war had reached its peak, it had become apparent to both the Alliance and the Horde that continuing their conflict would only lead to a mutually assured destruction. They had to work together to defeat a greater foe, yet again. But the little lion, Anduin Wrynn, would not be content with a temporary peace. No truces to be betrayed, no pacts to be forged, then forgotten. No, he wanted to ensure an end to it all. 

So the plan had been to trade promises instead of wins or losses on the battlefield. Large, important promises. Things like territory, hostages, and of course, marriages. At first he proposed that he himself would marry the Banshee Queen. Sylvanas did not accept this for many reasons, chief among them being that she preferred women, and second to that being that she had literal centuries on Anduin. He was a fine lad, sure enough, but what could they possibly talk about? He was young, alive, and human. She felt ancient, was dead, and had become a creature entirely of her own creation at this point. Those sort of differences would quickly melt away any good intentions, surely. 

Sylvanas was sure she had taken herself off the table. She made quite the case for how terrible of a marriage partner she would make, even if it meant losing a bit of faith with the rest of the members of this new pact. Of course, even then, no one had expected Jaina to volunteer.

Yet how were they to expect any of this? As they walked, Sylvanas found herself noting a great variety among the stonemasons that worked around them. When they had first begun construction the previous year, it was nearly all Forsaken working on the new city. That made sense. They were, after all, building on the same spot of the home that most of these people had lost at least twice--once during the Third War, again during the Alliance assault in the War of Thorns. Yet now, there were just as many living humans as dead ones carving away at the stones, or laying floorboards of polished wood. They even passed a room where a Tauren was holding up a dwarf so she could hang a chandelier. 

This was what they had worked for. This was what would help them to keep their world safe. Unity, cooperation, peace. 

Yet it didn’t come easy. Most of New Lordaeron was still populated by members of the former Horde. The humans and their friends were slow to trust. Those that had come were mostly survivors of the Scourge returning to their ancestral home, or those who decided that they weren’t going to let a silly little thing like undeath scare them away from their families.

But it was a start. Like this half-finished castle. Like the silence between her and Jaina that was beginning to grow more comfortable and less awkward. It was a start. That last part proved to be very difficult when both you and your spouse happened to start out thinking of eachother as genocidal maniacs, but they were working through it.

They stepped into a larger hallway, with high vaulted ceilings and light streaming in from the arched windows above of them. That light filtered through stained glass that formed the emblems of each allied race. Sylvanas had to admit that her skin looked best when it passed under the Forsaken purple, as was only natural.

“Wait,” Jaina interrupted her musings. “Is it finished?”

Sylvanas found a smile forming all too easily on her lips. “You’ll see,” she replied.

At the end of that hallway lay a large set of double doors. They, like the rest of the keep, were still not entirely finished. The fittings were only basic black iron, but hey, they were functional and level on their hinges. Sylvanas had ideas for some lovely brass work, but that would have to come later. 

She opened the door for Jaina, reflexively. This time, Jaina simply went through the door and didn’t offer a scowl or flinch as if she was breaking some sort of protocol. Things were getting better, maybe.

It would all depend on what she had to say about the rooms that lay beyond those doors. 

First there was an audience chamber, maybe better termed as a meeting room. There was long table, and Jaina appeared to approve of the number and quality of the chairs clustered around it, as well as the fact that there was a hearth. She had previously expressed some worry over undead architects forgetting that others might need things like heat to survive. 

Beyond that, a dining room, with another long table, but less chairs. Paintings were what Jaina seemed drawn to here. Sylvanas had chosen one of a Kul Tiran ship at sea. She was glad to see it noticed.

Then a sitting room, off to the side, smaller, cozier. A great bay window overlooking what would be garden, maybe in a decade or two. Right now it was a lumber yard. 

And after that, two doors. Two rooms.

“You’re on the left,” Sylvanas noted.

Jaina turned to look at her questioningly, but then opened the left door to reveal the surprise. 

A bedchamber, or maybe more like a study with a bed in it. That seemed to be what Jaina would want, after all. A wonderful writing desk with plenty of space for her to spread her mess out. Shelves full of books, some on gracious loan from the Kirin Tor, others pilfered from Silvermoon or Suramar and everywhere in between. A curtained bed draped in deep Kul Tiran green. Clutter to remind her of better times--a ship in a bottle on the mantle, a mounted display of fine wands, a tapestry depicting a lively harbor scene in Theramore.

Jaina took her time. She walked around the room, picking up objects as she went, examining them. She didn’t say anything. She flipped through the pages of a tome on the arcane that was resting on a marble bookstand. She gently touched the rich velvet of the bed curtains. She didn’t look back toward Sylvanas as she asked, “All for me then?”

“Unless you want to keep sleeping in a tent,” Sylvanas noted. 

Jaina half-turned toward her. A little smile was betraying her, but she wouldn’t dare show Sylvanas her entire face when it was like that. “Thank you.”

“It’s to your liking then?” Sylvanas asked. She still hung in the doorway. Even as she was consulting on the decorating of this room, she didn’t feel like she had the right to enter. She wanted it to be a place for Jaina, just for her. After all, no one quite knew the importance of personal space like a banshee did. You couldn’t truly appreciate privacy until you had been used to possess the body of an ogre that had just eaten an entire rotten goat.

Not that she had this place created out of any sort of sentiment. No, definitely not. It would keep Jaina quiet and happy. Maybe not happy. Content? It was tough to say.

But it would get rid of the complaints about having to share a tent down in the camp that functioned as a makeshift city while the real one was still being built or reclaimed. Sylvanas quickly learned to stop reminding Jaina that it had been her idea in the first place. Her endless need for nobility and self-sacrifice had prompted her to repurpose the pavilion she brought for herself as a medical tent. Rather than leave her homeless in the interim, Sylvanas had insisted that Jaina stay with her instead. It made sense. After all, they were technically married.

The problem was that Sylvanas didn't need to sleep. So she didn't. She was up all night, every night, meeting with commanders, coming and going, writing missives and battle plans, trying to save this world from the void in the way she knew best.

But her living, mortal wife needed sleep. She needed it more than she cared to admit. At first, Jaina pushed her way into those meetings, offered advice on the battle plans, and waited up to ask where Sylvanas had been all night and why she didn’t invite her along, but she began to suffer for it rather quickly. She was eventually convinced to go to sleep in the bed Sylvanas had brought in for her and placed in a far away corner of the pavilion.

But even then, it was hard to get her to rest. Jaina would complain about missing things while she slept, on the odd occasion that she did. With her own room, though, maybe she might actually sleep and leave Sylvanas back to her nights again.

At least that was the hope.

Jaina turned to face her, still with a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Yes. I had no idea this was supposed to be a second bedroom.”

“Well, it is now,” Sylvanas replied.

“And yours is next door?” Jaina asked, walking back toward the doorway where Sylvanas stood.

“Yes, complete with a lavish coffin and a closet for my skeletons,” Sylvanas scoffed.

Jaina shook her head. “I never imagined you would have a sense of humor. Now that I've seen it, I understand why you keep it a secret. It's truly awful.”

Sylvanas gave a sigh of mock annoyance as a response.

“Can I see it?” Jaina asked after a moment.

Sylvanas answered by removing herself from the doorway and moving to open other the door beside it.

Her room was not as nice or as thoughtful. There was a bed, yes, because even if she didn't sleep, she could enjoy a comfortable rest now and then. There were places to keep clothing and armor, along with a weapon rack or two. There was a smaller, more practical desk. 

But it wasn't entirely without personality. Most of the decorations were gifts--banners sewn for her, a delicate rose made from black glass in a simple vase, a wood carving of lynx, the old symbol of her ranger squad back in Quel’thalas. Instead of taking prominent places, these treasures were hidden away in the shadows of shelves and curtains. She would hold onto them, sure, but that was no reason to advertise them.

Jaina didn't snoop much. She stood mutely by the door, taking it in for a moment, before noting, “Just a wall between us.”

“I assure you that any late night meetings will be kept away. We won't disturb your rest,” Sylvanas offered. “I highly doubt I'll use this chamber often anyway.”

A quick look of rebuke from Jaina hinted that maybe it wasn't the noise she was concerned about.

Or maybe that was Sylvanas imagining things.

“So we can stay up here tonight?” Jaina asked.

“I've already sent for our things,” Sylvanas informed her.

\---

Jaina was warmer and more comfortable than she had been in months. And it was quiet. Intensely quiet. All she could hear was the occasional spark of the fire in her new hearth. Her hearth, not a brazier that she had to demand to be dragged into the tent because she just happened to notice that it was winter and that she was tired of constantly freezing. Just because she was a master of frost didn't mean that she had to live like it, or in it.

Still, it was quiet.

She busied herself with the many new books on her shelves. Even as she hung her head over a massive tome of philosophy, which she really didn't care for, written in Thalassian, which she had never really quite mastered as a language, she found herself bored, not tired. Buried in a terrible book, under the covers of this massive bed, even then sleep could not find her.

Quiet, comfortable, and alone for what felt like the first time in months, yet still her mind was racing. 

She had to wonder at what it was like for such a state to be normal, much less healthy. How was Sylvanas coping in the next room over? Even if her insomnia was typical for her kind, what was it like, to go from something that once slept and ate and lived to a being propelled by an unending energy, seemingly fueled by will alone from one sunrise to the next?

These were the kinds of questions that Jaina always had running through her mind anymore. Living and working closely with the undead would do that to a person. Of course, she could never ask these questions. It didn't stop her from wondering, though.

It reminded Jaina of the first time she’d met Sylvanas. Both of them were alive at the time. Jaina was just 16 years old then, accompanying her friend Prince Kael’thas on a quick trip back to his home in Silvermoon. It was such an honor to be asked to go to the home of the high elves. In those days, it was rare for human guests to be permitted. 

So it was with narrowed eyes and suspicion that the Ranger General first greeted her, not to mention a typical elven attitude of standoffishness and barely disguised irritation. Most elves saw her as a small, weak, and temporary thing compared to themselves. Even as Kael had introduced her as a promising young mage that was stealing the hearts of everyone in Dalaran, Sylvanas didn't seem convinced.

Later, Jaina would mention this to Kael, concerned she had somehow made a bad impression. She remembered him laughing and reassuring her, “Don't worry, my dear. I think you’re just not her type.”

Needless to say, that comment lead to a valuable lesson on how elven culture viewed same sex relationships. That marked another time in her life in which Jaina had plenty of questions that she wouldn't dare to ask.

What would Kael think, were he still here and hadn't lost his mind all those years ago? Would he think it was funny still? Yes, he would probably find it hilarious that she managed to end up married to Sylvanas Windrunner. 

There would also be a lot of other details about Jaina’s life that he would find decidedly unfunny, but that was a worry for another night.

Jaina went back to wondering how it was that she could be so exhausted, yet unable to sleep. Was she hungry? No. Thirsty? Maybe a little. Was she looking for excuses to leave this room and find some way not to be alone? Absolutely.

Why lie to herself? There was no point anymore. Besides, she had been assured that this place was as much her home as anyone else’s--her keep, her city, her armies, definitely her navy. She was more than allowed to walk around if she wanted to.

She closed her book, setting it aside amongst the pillows she’d shoved to one side of the bed. She then slipped out of the covers and found herself a robe. She didn’t have a destination in mind, honestly, but anything was better than just sitting there, hoping for sleep to magically come upon her.  
And yes, of course, there were magic spells and potions for all of that, but continued use of them was not healthy. Jaina needed to get over this herself. She knew she could. She just needed more time to adjust to, well, everything.

She tried to open her door as quietly as possible and stepped out into the hall. She had no idea where Sylvanas was, but didn’t want to disturb her in case she was actually in her room.

And she was, with the door open, lit only by a small lamp. Though there was a hearth in Sylvanas’ room, it lay cold and dark. She was hunched over her desk, writing. It amazed Jaina just how small she looked without her armor, even though she’d seen her bereft of it many times in the past year. It was hard to imagine that the imposing figure of the former Warchief actually inhabited the body of just an average-sized high elf. Yet there she was, in a simple dressing gown, writing letters. Jaina knew exactly what they said. They were pleas for help, requests for understanding, attempts at diplomacy, and yes, even some apologies. Sylvanas knew as well as she did that they needed any ally they could get. She had once confided in Jaina that she felt the least she could do was write to those who still resisted their attempts at peace in her own hand.

“You might as well come in,” Sylvanas invited without even looking up from her work.

Damn. She was not as quiet as she thought. “I uh...I know this will come as a shock to you, but I can’t sleep,” Jaina told her.

Sylvanas grunted an acknowledgement. 

Jaina almost felt like she shouldn’t even try to pass through the door frame. Sylvanas clearly wanted her sleepless nights back to herself. There was no other reason for her to give Jaina her own space. She certainly hadn’t been expecting it. 

But one didn’t refuse an invitation from the Banshee Queen. Jaina stepped into the dim room, immediately feeling the difference in temperature. 

Jaina watched her wordlessly as Sylvanas finished off the letter, signing it with her spidery and very distinctly elven signature. 

Sylvanas leaned back and sighed, stashing the quill back into a nearly empty inkwell. She turned to face Jaina. Unhooded, her grave-dulled hair was free to spill into her eyes. It gave her a distinct look of exhaustion. Maybe that was just Jaina projecting, but it seemed like even Sylvanas could use a nap at this point.

“It’s more than a bit late,” Sylvanas commented, brushing the hair back from her face.

“I tried reading something boring, well, something that I would find boring,” Jaina told her. “But it turns out that even two thousand year old elven philosophy is too exciting to get me to doze off.”

“Oh no, that old Daysong relic? I had them throw it in because it has a pretty cover,” Sylvanas admitted. “Please don’t actually read that pile of garbage.”

Jaina shrugged. “Honestly, it was more just looking at words and less reading. My Thalassian isn’t great.”

“We can work on that,” Sylvanas noted. “But you speak Orcish better than me, for what it’s worth.”

Jaina smiled. That was true. She’d had years more practice, after all. “What are we even doing here?” she asked Sylvanas.

The other woman laughed. “It seems like we might actually be having a casual conversation.”

“It’s weird,” Jaina said.

“I know,” Sylvanas agreed. “But it’s not really that casual of you are standing at attention like a soldier over there.”

Jaina hadn't realized it, but yes, she was about one salute away from that. There were no other seats in the room besides the one Sylvanas was still occupying. She hated this. Of all the people in Azeroth, and honestly any other world she’d had occasion to visit, only Sylvanas could still make her feel like a complete fool. Where was she supposed to sit?

Fine. She would sit on her bed. That was the only option.

Jaina swept her way over to the bed with as much regality as she could muster. She sat down on the dark satin of the comforter and remarked, “Nice coffin you have here.”

Sylvanas answered with a huff, not quite a laugh. “What can I say? I've done well for myself.”

Jaina offered a smile back the sarcastic side of Sylvanas that she was beginning to become acquainted with. She was trying. She really was. She had stopped seeing the Banshee Queen and the Warchief every time she looked at her. Most of the time now, she just saw a person, sometimes a world class general, other times a leader who cared deeply for her people, well, more so the undead ones than the living. That was no secret. But she no longer saw a monster or an enemy, just not really a friend either. Or, you know, a spouse.

“Could you sleep, if you wanted to?” she found herself wondering aloud.

Sylvanas hummed before answering, “Yes. I would have to force myself, but I could.”

“Why bother with this then?” Jaina asked as she ran her hand over the rich fabric of the bedspread.

“For the same reason I have them set a place for me at feasts, why I still keep a bottle of good wine handy--it’s normal. I don't need to sleep, eat, or drink, but I spent more of my existence doing those things than I have not doing them. It’s just,” she paused for a moment, “it's just odd I guess, not to have a bed in a bedroom. Besides, where else am I supposed to huddle up and read awful philosophy into the wee hours of the morning?”

“I've seen a lot of Forsaken eating though,” Jaina objected.

“Ghouls,” Sylvanas corrected. “Depending on how they died, most of them still actually get some benefits from eating and have a sense of taste.”

“I see, so--"

“The rest of us are a different story,” Sylvanas cut her off. “Banshees, geists, abominations, dark rangers, death knights, liches--our deaths were a bit more...traumatic. For me, it’s like sleeping. I can eat, but I don't taste anything, nor do I get hungry, so what's the point?”

“Huh, I didn't know that,” Jaina admitted. “Someone should really do a study on the different forms of undeath.”

Sylvanas shrugged. “I'm sure the Apothecaries have material on that subject, if you are interested.”

She didn't need to know that Jaina still treated that group of Forsaken with a lingering distrust, so Jaina simply nodded her reply.

Sylvanas also didn't need to know that Jaina was developing a bit of a fascination with how she worked. 

“I'm not trying to shut you out, you know,” Sylvanas said after a moment of silence stretched on too long. “I just thought you needed your own space.”

Why was it such a relief to hear that? Why did her stomach immediately unknot itself? Why did the tension in her shoulders that she didn't even realize was there before begin to ease at those words? Why was she worried about this? Why did she care?

“My door is and will remain open to you,” Sylvanas went on. “I meant what I promised, despite the circumstances I promised it under; we are equals in this partnership, both politically and privately.”

Jaina found herself letting out a long, shaky sigh. “I appreciate that,” she said. “I just...I'm still feeling a little lost here.”

“Who isn't?” Sylvanas offered. She turned back to her desk. She checked to make sure the ink was dry, then started folding the letter. “This is new for all of us. I think you and I are a fine example of this new nation of ours--we are all still learning to trust one another.”

Sylvanas then took the candle from her lamp and dribbled a bit of violet wax from it onto the folded letter. She waited a few moments before pressing it with a seal, then carefully stowing the candle back where it belonged. The seal itself was newly forged, and it's symbol was only finalized a few months ago. It was a jumbled collection of a Worgen wolf, a Forsaken mask, a Blood Elf phoenix, and a Kul Tiran anchor, clustered around the old symbol of Lordaeron. The seal for their newly-formed kingdom, one of four new nations bound together in what was being called the Protectorate Pact. A step towards Anduin’s dream of a united Azeroth that was nothing short of miraculous.

Sylvanas waved the sealed letter a bit to cool the wax. “We’ll see if the Amani trolls have changed their minds. Ugh, if I were to go back and tell myself 20 years ago what I just wrote…”

Jaina happily took this segue back to a less emotional conversation. “How would you explain yourself to, well, yourself?”

Sylvanas flashed her a grin. “Well, first, I think I'd tell her to run away if she sees a death knight charging at her.”

Jaina hated these jokes. She never knew how to react. Was she supposed to laugh? Was she supposed to console her? She had no idea.

But Sylvanas kept on grinning. 

“Wait. You know I hate when you do that. You have to,” Jaina pointed out.

“Of course I do. It's great. No one ever knows what to say,” Sylvanas admitted. 

Jaina found herself laughing. “Awful! You are despicable! How many times have you given people literal heart attacks over this?”

“How else am I supposed to make more Forsaken?” Sylvanas answered with an even wider grin.

“Stop!” Jaina tried to protest through even more laughter.

Sylvanas joined her with a chuckle or two even. “I may not be able to enjoy a fine wine or a long nap anymore. Let me have something.”

It was funny how that one tugged at her heartstrings the most. Forget all these great tragedies that had befallen the two of them. Jaina could still enjoy a hot meal on a cold day or, on a rare occasion, turn off her thoughts enough to drift into a restful slumber. She still had many ways left to herself to find a little comfort when life got rough.

All Sylvanas had left was her awful, and rather unexpected repertoire of self-deprecating undeath jokes.

Sylvanas set the letter down as laughter left her. She stared at another blank piece of parchment that still lay on the desk. The red glow of her eyes reflected off of it’s off-white surface with just the faintest hint of ruddy light. “I have one more letter to write tonight,” she noted as pulled the sheet forward. “But you can stay here while I write it, if you want.”

Jaina was tired of being confused about how to accept offers like these. There was only one way to find out if she was being tested or not, or if they were finally through with all of that nonsense. She just had to accept them and find out. “If you don't mind,” she replied more out of politeness than anything else.

Sylvanas had already begun scratching away with the quill again. She didn’t respond, but Jaina thought there might have been a hint of a smile hidden somewhere within the wild tangle of her loose hair.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, or how, or why. She just knew that she woke up in her own bed a few hours later, just after dawn. Jaina didn’t question how she made it from sitting on dark purple satin to neatly tucked into Kul Tiran green. She didn’t have time to ponder why she couldn't sleep alone. She felt rested, for once, and there was work to do.


	2. The Care and Feeding of Kul Tirans/A Treatise on the Attributes of Dark Rangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upping the rating because these ladies can't control their language.
> 
> Honestly this will end up as an M, but we'll leave it here at T for now.

It felt good to be back in a tent. Things made sense down here, in the chaos of the camp. It was like it’s own little warzone. People moved about with purpose, many offering nothing more than a quick salute when she walked by. They didn’t have time for much else. Sylvanas didn’t like to consider herself a general, or at least she imagined that her skillset was far beyond that of a career military officer, yet it was here that she felt comfortable. There was nothing left for her in this world besides conflict, after all. Best she embrace it.

The wind roared behind her, telling her that someone had entered the tent, bringing with them the winds of the winter storm that was currently besieging the city. Sylvanas turned to find an old friend wiping snow-drenched hair away from his good eye.

“Ah, Lor’themar,” she greeted him. “I knew I could count on you to brave the storm.”

Lor’themar shook the remaining snow from his cloak before looking around and noting, “It seems I’m the only one that has.”

Sylvanas confirmed this with a nod an annoyed huff. Several other officers were meant to join them for this meeting in the war tent. All were obviously delayed by the weather, or at least that would be their excuse. 

No matter, it meant that she could pick her old friend’s brain in private for a few more minutes.

“I have to say that I’ll look forward to the day we can meet up in the keep. Are the builders making progress on the war room?” Lor’themar asked as he hung his wet cloak on one of the many empty chairs that lay scattered around the map table.

Sylvanas was currently hanging over said map table, pondering figurines of troops--troops whose colors and markers were all new. New Lordaeron. United Kalimdor. The Alliance of Stormforge. Uck, what a terrible name for a kingdom.

The new Pandaren kingdom still didn’t have a name. They were still working on who and what was included, who should lead it--you know, the important details of sovereignty. Northrend was an entirely different question. There was talk of dividing it up so that each of the four kingdoms had a piece of it. Another set of voices demanded it belong to no one. None of its native races were friendly to the idea of uniting with the rest of Azeroth. Granted, they also didn’t quite understand what was at stake if they didn’t. If they could be convinced, then there was yet another group that wanted to give them their own, fifth kingdom.

But currently, the figures were stacked in and around an entirely new landmass. A new island, risen from the sea, populated by monsters of N’zoth’s creation. Incredibly volatile and riddled with madness, it was honestly a perfect death trap. And yet, it was also what they had to conquer. 

“Don’t worry, it should be finished in a matter of a week or two,” Sylvanas assured him. “You know I hate to ask you to ruin your gorgeous hair walking all the way over here.”

Lor’themar offered her a chuckle even as he began to try to fix the tangled mess that his long locks had transformed into. “I have to say that you’re becoming more and more like the sassy Sylvanas I remember. I don’t know what to make of it,” he told her.

“I’ve never been anyone else, Lor,” she replied. “I’ve just had more important things to waste my breath on.”

“Really?” he said as he wandered over to the table and nudged the figure at the center of the new landmass--a wriggling mass of tentacles, rendered in miniature, painted pitch black.

Fine, maybe something else was different. Maybe there was some reason she had for resurrecting her own ability to laugh. Not that he needed to know that, of course. Sylvanas opened her mouth to object, but Lor’themar waved and chuckled again.

“It’s a good thing. There, I’ve decided it’s a good thing,” he said. “As to why, I assure you that I know it’s none of my business.” 

While she knew him to be a bit of a gossip--no true elf could ever really resist gossip--Sylvanas knew that of all of the subjects in this new nation of hers, she could trust Lor’themar to keep his mouth shut. That trust was part of a unique relationship they had developed, working together for centuries, briefly against one another, though not willingly, then back to being comrades, but under much different circumstances, and now, even stranger ones.

“I’d like to visit the front again,” Sylvanas told him, moving a Forsaken ship up toward the island. She paired two Kul Tiran man-of-wars well behind it, out of range of the old god’s influence, but close enough to provide cover fire, if needed. It was true that the undead were immune to the madness that being near N’zoth’s presence would cause, but there simply weren’t enough of them to overcome him alone.

Lor’themar gave her a quizzical look. “It’s safer to fly over, should you want to see the thing. There’s plenty of death knights at the front. I’m sure one could lend you a Frostwyrm, should you want to ensure your mount is incorruptible as well.”

“I want to see where we can land,” she corrected, inching the Forsaken ship closer. “I’m not interested in starring my enemy straight into his many eyes. I want to know where we can put boots on the ground.”

“When we find a way to do so safely--” Lor’themar began, cautiously. 

“Then we’ll already have plans prepared for the assault,” Sylvanas finished for him. “See? I knew you understood.”

He sighed, shaking his head ever so slightly. “See, just like the old Sylvanas--reckless, but probably very effective.”

“We’ll just be sailing by. Well out of range of any creature we’ve already documented, and with a lot of firepower as an escort. I’d say that’s quite conservative, if you were to ask the old Sylvanas,” she noted.

“Then don’t let me stop you,” he relented. Lor’themar then went to retrieve a scroll case from his things, and popped the cap on it, revealing papers that he kept from the weather’s fury within its confines. 

“Before we get too far into things,” Sylvanas said as she watched him sort through his reports. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my Queen,” he responded, almost automatically. 

“Ugh, that rolls off your tongue too easily,” Sylvanas scolded him.

Lor’themar looked up at her with an eye that was shining a proud gold color these days, but with an expression that was deadly serious. “I am quite content to just be the Ranger General, thank you. You know well enough that it’s a position of great responsibility, but I think it suits me much better than Regent Lord. I was always better at being second in command, so Queen it is for you, Sylvanas, and I’ll gladly serve my Queen.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. That would hardly be regal of her now, wouldn’t it? 

Sylvanas picked up one of the Kul Tiran man-of-war models, admiring the delicate carving. It was just wood and some green paint, but there was something beautiful about making something so large into something so small and manageable. If only all things could be rendered in such a way. 

She held the tiny ship out to Lor’themar. “I want to try to curry favor with these captains. They still don’t trust me, and honestly, I don’t know if I trust them. I really don’t know very much about them. Diplomatically, what would you give them, as a gift?”

Lor’themar gave a brief glance at the model ship and shrugged, still sorting his papers. “Something elven. That’s always impressive to humans, no matter where they hail from. They don’t know any better.”

“And if you’ve already tried that?” she asked further.

Lor’themar looked up again, this time at her, not at the little ship. “And these captains of yours,” he said with an obvious lilt of disbelief, “didn’t like their elven trinkets? Imagine that.”

Sylvanas sighed. “Then as a friend, not your Queen--Lor, do you know what Kul Tirans like?”

“As a friend,” he hesitated very briefly before continuing, a grin slowly making its way over his lips, “I would guess that it’s not lavishly furnished bedroom suites?”

Sylvanas groaned and set the model back down where it belonged, then stalked off to a corner of the tent, maybe hoping to find her dignity there. “Fuck off, Lor.”

Lor’themar laughed, clearly not threatened by the wrath of the Banshee Queen. He had known her too long. To him, some part of her was still a bumbling lieutenant, who would complain to her fellow barely competent ranger that her many crushes never seemed to notice her. This situation was hardly different, even if removed from the others by literal centuries. “She’s not here bothering us, so I have to guess it didn’t go all that bad.”

“She did sleep a little,” Sylvanas admitted as she resolved that her dignity had long since escaped and was not in the mood to be found again today. She shouldn’t have even asked this question of him, but who else could she ask? Who still knew her as anything beyond a voice that shouted orders? Those who did were few and far between. She begrudgingly walked back over to the table to accept his judgement.

“That’s a win in my books then. So why are you looking for more advice from your old pal Lor’themar?” he asked.

“Did you ever have a pet when you were young, Lor?” Sylvanas questioned.

He thought about it for a moment, then answered. “Nothing substantial, but little things, yes. I was always catching frogs and snakes.”

“Disgusting,” she admonished. “But still, when you had your gross little things, did you care about them in a way, even if they were vile little creatures? Did you want to see them thrive? Did it bring you a sort of happiness to see them fed and watered and know that they were well?”

Lor’themar shrugged. “Of course, until my father would go on about responsibility. He really knew how to take the fun out of it.”

“Exactly. I feel like it’s the second day of having the pet, or maybe more like a month in. It’s housebroken, it mostly does what it’s told, but it’s my responsibility now to keep it alive and happy,” Sylvanas told him.

He laughed again. “That or you’re married.”

“It’s easier to process it as the pet thing, Lor, just go with it,” she commanded. “But like you were with your toads, I’m beginning to feel burdened. This pet doesn’t take care of itself well.”

Lor’themar made a show of stacking his reports up some more, making two neat piles of them. “I still don’t see why your question about gifts is relevant then,” he told her.

“Fine. What do they eat?” Sylvanas blurted out.

“What?”

“What do Kul Tirans eat?” she asked, this time finding it harder to get the words out without wanting to end herself.

Lor’themar looked at her again with the eyebrow over his good eye lifted so far she feared it might fly off of his face. “Food?” he answered incredulously. 

Sylvanas found the next sentence coming through her teeth, “As in, if you were concerned that your pet wasn’t eating and wanted to treat it to something you were sure it would go for--”

“And my pet was not a slimy reptile or amphibian, but instead a certain Kul Tiran mage,” he cut her off laughing at the ridiculousness of her question. “I’d say that they like seafood, fish pies and the like. At least that’s what I remember eating there when I visited.”

“That won’t work,” Sylvanas told him curtly. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“A fish pie isn’t casual food, Lor. You can’t just have them lying around,” Sylvanas objected.

Now both of Lor’themar’s long eyebrows were in danger of flying through the roof of the tent. “Sylvanas, what the hell are you--”

Mercifully, he was silenced when the tent flap opened again, this time revealing Bragor Bloodfist. The old orc had remained in Sylvanas’ retinue, and was welcome council in these tactics meetings. Now, of course, he was welcome more for his ability to end this terrible conversation that she never should have started.

Sylvanas sent a final, devastating glare Lor’themar’s way before greeting Bragor.

Lor’themar offered either a knowing wink in return, or an exhausted blink. It was hard to tell, on account of the missing eye.

\---

Jaina wasn’t the least bit surprised to find a copy of a prominent Apothecary's journal delivered to her over lunch. Well, what would have been lunch. She let it grow cold as she perused the pages. There were many entries on the abilities of banshees, and many, many more on speculation of the hows and whys of their existence, but there was absolutely nothing about Dark Rangers. Well, only one small and very obvious observation; that they were banshees who had managed to repossess their original bodies. 

Jaina left her cold lunch on the table, entirely uninterested. She was entirely unfulfilled, hungry more for answers than any sort of food.

Could they still possess other bodies? How could they move their corporeal forms as a cloud of presumably undead magic, as she’d seen Sylvanas done? Wait, could the others do it too, or just her?

Most importantly, why did she suddenly need to know these things? 

Jaina refused to answer herself on that last question. Even some of the world’s greatest inquiries were better left unchallenged.

Still, she had to admit that she was rather put off by this great lapse in Forsaken science. Jaina was no Apothecary, nor would she ever want to be, but she has once been very studious. She felt she could do a better job at covering and discovering what there was to know about these rare creatures.

The only problem was that most of them still hated her.

Jaina found herself in a meeting regarding plans to move Dalaran back to its original location within the confines for her new kingdom. This was only a temporary measure, until the city could be supplied and moved to the new front, just far away enough from the black isle that had erupted from the sea between Zandalar and Kul Tiras to avoid its maddening influence. She didn’t need to offer much in the way of input. She had already worked out the magical and political logistics of the move. This meeting was more about supplying the city, who would bring what, how much they would get paid for it, who would pay them, and so on.

She found herself scribbling in the margins of her meeting notes as she listened to a Gilnean representative arguing with a Bilgewater goblin over grain prices. New Lordaeron had little in the way of good farmland. Most of it was still recovering from the Scourge. They relied heavily on grain imports from United Kalimdor, for which the goblins were eager brokers.

_There are maybe two dozen of them,_ Jaina wrote. _Most of them are at the front now. All elven. There was a human, Nathanos Blightcaller. He was lost in the first attack on the isle._

That was a name she wouldn’t mourn. He was simpering snake. If Sylvanas would dare to call Greymane Anduin’s dog, then Nathanos had been hers. Jaina wondered if Sylvanas missed him nipping at her heels. She never spoke of him. Perhaps that was the best indication that Jaina would ever get. Either way, she had no idea how Sylvanas felt about him, or if she felt anything at all.

_So I guess not all banshees. Maybe Nathanos was included as a technicality._

Perhaps Dark Ranger was too broad of a term. That might be like saying all mages were the same. She used to think everyone knew the difference. Many years removed from her studies in Dalaran had taught her that few people could tell an Archmage from a sleight of hand magician doing card tricks on a street corner. At least, not until the Archmage bothered to prove herself to be what she really was, of course.

So how did one define what Sylvanas Windrunner was? Entirely unique? Maybe. Without flaw or weakness? Certainly not.

Was that even what she wanted to find out? Maybe a year ago. Now? No. It was something else entirely.

The meeting ran long, because apparently everyone present except the Gilnean representative knew better than to argue prices with goblins. The goblin seemed to relish the discussion, but the Gilnean woman bared her fangs too many times to allow for things to still be called civil. Eventually Jaina stirred from her reveries long enough to realize the time and break things up between the two of them. Her notes on what she knew of Dark Rangers consisted of more question marks than words. As she ushered out the last of the participants and thanked them for their patience, she realized it was too late to get involved in anything else.

Too late to do anything but try to sleep.

The half-finished keep was shutting down around her. The builders had barely gotten anything done today, as the awful weather had prevented them from attempting any exterior work. Most of them had gone home early. As Jaina walked the silent halls up to her rooms, she began to realize that, save for the ever-present mixture of guards, the keep had no other permanent residents save for herself and Sylvanas. Not yet, at least. 

What a comforting thought to lull herself to sleep to.

Jaina did her best to try to banish any negative thoughts as she opened the double doors to the royal quarters. She was determined to enjoy a second night of rest, and to get it on her own terms this time. 

Of course, she was about to try that, until she saw the light from Sylvanas’ open door.

Jaina peered in, trying to act casual about it. She found Sylvanas still in her armor, just settling in for the night. She watched the other woman for a moment as she went about her routine, seemingly unaware of Jaina’s eyes on her. Sylvanas holstered her bow on a wall-mounted rack. She set down a basket of, well, something on her desk. 

Jaina only coughed to make herself known once Sylvanas began to deftly shrug out off her pauldrons. She certainly didn’t want to see anymore of her than was necessary, or get caught looking like she might want to.

The slow speed at which Sylvanas turned to acknowledge her gave Jaina the impression that Sylvanas both knew she had been there this entire time, and honestly didn’t care how much of her body Jaina might see.

“Well, good evening to you too then,” Sylvanas offered when she finally turned all the way around.

“I just wanted to apologize for last night,” Jaina quickly uttered, trying to get her point across as fast as possible while she made up an excuse in her head as to why she would have to dart into her own room.

“What for?” Sylvanas asked. 

“Falling asleep on your bed,” Jaina told her. “I guess I was just exhausted.”

“Not a problem,” Sylvanas replied curtly, turning back around. “If you find it more comfortable than you own, we can arrange for them to be switched, you know.”

“That’s alright. The one I have is fine,” Jaina said. Her excuses were failing her. So much for a brilliant mind. She couldn’t even think of a way to explain why she wanted to leave.   
“Are you hungry?” Sylvanas asked after a moment.

“What?” Jaina questioned back at her. 

Instead of repeating herself, Sylvanas gestured at the basket on her desk. In it was an assortment of oddly shaped blue and purple fruits. “Nightborne delicacies, so I’m told. The First Arcanist sent them.”

Jaina was suddenly and violently aware that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Weird fruit or not, anything edible sounded amazing to her in that moment. She seriously considered taking Sylvanas up on her offer. They were at the point now that Jaina was pretty confident that her wife wouldn’t try to poison her, or at least the ramifications for her attempting such a thing would definitely not be worth it. 

“Has Thalyssra convinced Suramar to join us then?” Jaina asked, trying to keep the conversation political as she crossed the threshold into Sylvanas’ room yet again.

“Not yet,” Sylvanas reported. “It’s still an even split between those who feel they owe loyalty to me for giving them a place in the Horde, and those who want to join their night elf brethren in rebuilding a presence in Kalimdor.”

Jaina hummed her reply. The Broken Isles would be a valuable asset to their kingdom, but it had been a difficult journey to navigate the shattered remains of the Nightborne leadership. She knew that there was a third faction still that wished to keep Suramar isolated, and to go back to their old ways of ignoring the goings on of the rest of the world. Ten thousand years of wisdom, yet some of Nightborne still wanted to stick their heads in the sand and wait for evil to pass them by.

Still, their fruit looked amazing. 

Sylvanas caught her eyeing the basket. She picked it up and held it out to her. 

“You’re sure?” Jaina asked.

“What am I going to do with it?” Sylvanas asked back.

Oh, right. She had missed that one in her notes. Little to no sense of taste. Could she still smell? Weren’t those two senses linked?

Shit. She was just staring at fruit now. Jaina quickly selected something that vaguely resembled a pear, but with a pearlescent blue skin. “Thank you,” she said, holding up the fruit. “I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner. The Dalaran committee meeting ran long.”

“I heard,” Sylvanas told her. She was still holding the basket out. “By the way, I meant the whole thing, not just one. It’s addressed to both of us, after all.”

“Oh, right,” Jaina said as she took the basket in the hand that wasn’t full of strange pear. She glanced at the card attached to the handle and found Sylvanas was correct. Queen Jaina Proudmoore was still a title she was having a hard time wrapping her head around. Archmage had been too much. Lord Admiral was far too much. Queen? No. In her mind, Sylvanas was the Queen. Jaina was just, well, also there, around, just helping, maybe.

Besides, her past attempts at leading a fledgling nation didn't exactly demonstrate a great track record. 

“The way you take care of yourself, you might be better off undead,” Sylvanas joked as stepped back toward her desk again.

“I…” Jaina started to try to justify herself, but found that she couldn’t. Sure, she didn’t have a lot of time. She always kept herself busy. The meeting had gone long. She had skipped lunch to try to satisfy this nagging fascination she had with the woman in front of her. There were many reasons, but none of them added up to a decent excuse. “I think I’ll stick to the world of the living, thanks.”

As if to emphasize this, she took a bite of the Nightborne fruit. It tasted amazing, sour and sweet--refreshing, but perfectly satisfying.

Sylvanas shrugged and began getting her writing supplies out. It seemed like tonight’s agenda would be more letters. “Suit yourself. If you were looking for an answer in that journal, by the way, it was there. You’d be a lich,” Sylvanas told her.

Jaina blinked twice before asking, “Wait what?”

“You’d become a lich,” Sylvanas repeated, as casually as if she was talking about something as simple baking bread. “Powerful human mages have historically become liches when raised. I very much doubt that you’d enjoy that fate. Having worked with a few liches in my time, I would say that I can’t recommend it.”

“Huh,” was all Jaina could offer in reply. Another comforting thought to drift to sleep with. Lovely. What a lovely life she was living.

At least the fruit was tasty. She took another bite to remind herself of that humble fact.

“Or was that not what you were trying to get out of me last night?” Sylvanas questioned.

No. She wanted to know how Sylvanas worked. What could she still feel? What in this world still gave her any sort of positive feedback? Did she really care about all of the people that were now under their charge? Could she love them? Could she do anything but hate? Was that even possible for her, mentally or physiologically?

The answer, at this point, was a firm maybe. If anything, it proved to Jaina that her brief delve into the realm of the scientific was doomed to fail. It was much easier to explain things with magic--much easier to say that a wizard did it, or maybe a lich.

“I honestly don’t even remember what I was asking about,” Jaina lied. “But the journal did make its way to me today. Thank you for that.”

Sylvanas regarded her for a moment, as if trying to see through that lie. The faint red glow of her eyes was piercing. It made Jaina uncomfortable in an entirely different way than it used to. Was Sylvanas trying to do the same thing to her? Was she trying to pick her apart, examine the pieces, and put them back together again so she could understand how they functioned as a whole?

Maybe not, because she was starting to crack a grin. “Your lips are blue now,” Sylvanas informed her through a smile of pointed teeth.

Jaina quickly wiped at her mouth with one hand. It came away faintly stained with blue fruit juice. So much for trying to keep things serious and political. “You sure Thalyssra didn’t send these as a joke?”

Sylvanas was trying to smother her smile. “I wouldn’t necessarily put it past her, then again, blue lips are a normal thing for Nightborne.”

Jaina felt something inside her ease at the ridiculousness of it all. Of course. Of course this would happen to her. She chuckled briefly at herself before tossing the half-eaten pear thing back into the basket and taking a handful of purple berries instead. “I think this is more my color,” she joked as she tried one.

The berries were quite sour, but the tiny laugh she got from Sylvanas was something else entirely. This was the best scientific evidence she could possibly ask for. Capable of laughter? Yes, that much she already knew. The undead puns were growing at an unsustainable rate anymore. Laughter at Jaina’s expense? Especially. Laughing with her? Well, another maybe.

“Am I purple now?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas shook her head. “Best not to worry about it.” Another laugh escaped her, coming out as something closer to a snort.

Yes, Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of New Lordaeron, former Warchief of the Horde, was still capable of snorting. No amount of dignity or tragedy or hatred had taken that from her. 

Dark Ranger or not, she was still a person, someone Jaina was just starting to get to know. Behind the general that had screamed out orders to kill Jaina and those who were dear to her on several occasions, there was someone who laughed ungracefully, and now actually seemed to care about whether or not Jaina was taking care of herself.

Jaina almost wanted to say something profound. She wanted to offer a sort of formal truce between them. Maybe they could start over? It would be nice to have someone to talk to again. 

But what was she thinking? Sylvanas didn't want her for a friend. She had agreed to this whole arrangement because she felt they were equal in power, and mostly because Jaina’s powers were as much naval as they were arcane. When Sylvanas looked at her, Jaina highly doubt that she saw a person. She probably saw a forest of green sails, with her new flag flying proudly amongst them. 

But something had changed. Sylvanas sat down and began working on her letters, but she kept talking to her. She rambled to Jaina about the war meeting. She complained about the winter storm delaying construction on the keep and providing excuses for everything else to be delayed as well.

Jaina chatted back, bemoaning the hours she wasted listening to the whole pricing argument that afternoon. Sylvanas joined her in calling the Gilnean woman an idiot for thinking she could make a goblin agree to take a lesser profit.

They were doing it again--having a normal conversation. There were no threats, no tests, no tensions. They were just talking.

At some point, Jaina had gone through two other varieties of Nightborne fruit, concluding that the blue pear definitely tasted the best, but probably wasn't worth the embarrassment of trying to eat more of it. She also found herself tired of standing around with a basket of fruit, and set it aside. She somehow made her way back on to the same corner of Sylvanas’ bed that she had perched on the night before. 

And at some point, they ran out of things to say. Jaina just listened to the quill scratching again. Sleep found her not long after. 

But this time, she woke up before she had been transported to her bed. She woke up in the arms of what she assumed was a loyal Deathguard who had been called in to carry her back to where she belonged. Said arms were cold to the touch, and covered in armor that was digging into her ribs.

Jaina opened her eyes. Her Deathguard had long blonde hair and elven ears. Said Deathguard seemed a little too small to be able to carry her bridal style. This Deathguard’s eyes were focused straight ahead, burning red like embers of a dying fire. Fuck. It was Sylvanas. 

Of course. She seemed to like her privacy. Sylvanas was also nothing but pragmatic. No need to get a guard to do what she could do herself, right?

Jaina shut her eyes made her best attempt at pretending to be dead weight. This would be extremely awkward if she revealed that she was awake, as opposed to the level of incredibly awkward it was already.

Sylvanas had no trouble opening the door to Jaina’s room, despite her burden. She didn’t seem to need to put much effort into carrying her. Count that as another note on Dark Rangers, they definitely had a good amount of inhuman strength. 

She could have just tossed Jaina on the bed and gotten back to her night, but Sylvanas didn’t do that. She went through the trouble of freeing a few fingers from her grip to grab hold of the covers and pull them back before gently depositing Jaina on the sheets. She then slid the covers back over her, but Jaina noted that she was careful not to touch any part of her while doing so. That was true until she slid the blankets up to Jaina’s shoulders. Then, one cold hand brushed the loose strands of hair that had dared to escape her braid away from her face.

Just once, and so carefully. Not adoringly like a lover, not jokingly like a friend. No, like someone who might actually care a little if she was comfortable that night. Like something new and tenuous--something Jaina didn't have a name for.

She found herself fading into sleep again. Maybe it was part of a dream that was just beginning, but she swore she heard someone mutter, “It was nice talking with you, Jaina.”

Not a blunted “Proudmoore”. Not “Oh you again". Not a sneer into “Ah, if it isn't my favorite magical admiral”. No. Just Jaina.


	3. A Year and Three Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I prove that I am incapable of writing a longfic without the use of dramatic flashbacks.

Sylvanas liked routine. That was probably one of the many reasons why the military life always seemed to suit her best. 

Every day had its tasks, repeating ad nauseam, changing very little--meetings, decisions, inspections. Going from one day to the next gave her a sense of consistency and purpose. She chose this life, and continued to choose it even after the word life didn’t necessarily apply. No one was forcing her to do this. No voice whispered in her mind to compel her toward these actions. Each event, each meeting, no matter how dull or how like the last one it was, served as an affirmation. She was free. Her days were her own to plan. Her heart wasn’t full of mindless rage. She felt clear. For once, she felt nothing but the bow on her back and the wind whipping at her cape.

It was almost like she was herself again.

Sylvanas turned back to the architect. “You’re right. It’s a fine view up here.”

Behind her, the moon was beginning to rise over a snow-covered landscape. The snow did well to hide the scars of plague and war that had ravaged the forests of Tirisfal. It gave the area a serene air, where normally it looked like it was still a warzone. 

The idea was to make this area a terrace, instead of just bare parapets. It would adjoin the ballroom, the interior of which was just getting its finishing touches--just in time for the first event that it would host. Supposedly, a masquerade ball was a Winter Veil tradition in the old kingdom of Lordaeron, so Sylvanas begrudgingly approved of its continuance in her new kingdom. And yes, begrudgingly, due to the fact that she knew that hosting such an event would mean inviting her fellow world leaders and being diplomatic. She honestly hoped that she could leave the last part to Jaina. Peace or no peace, she still did not have the patience to deal with most of the former members of the Alliance.

Speaking of routines, she was running late for a new one. 

She briefly looked over the plans for the terrace again and let the architect know to have a copy sent to the foreman first thing in the morning. The new terrace wouldn’t be ready in time for the ball, but she very much doubted that her living guests would want to enjoy any outdoor entertainment in the middle of winter.

Sylvanas then made her way back through the halls of the keep, which were now starting to resemble a proper castle. They were hung with banners, paintings and tapestries, and illuminated by beautifully crafted enchanted lamps. Even Lor’themar’s beloved, and very much interior war room was finally finished--furnished in dark woods and complete with a map table that could be made to display a variety of locations throughout the known world through the use of some sort of clever illusion magic. 

But that wasn’t her destination. No, this was a different routine, one that she had to admit she was going to miss over the next few days, while she visited the front. 

It had already been broken when she found Jaina waiting for her in her room, and not the other way around.

Sylvanas tried to hide her surprise. “Did you see the ballroom yet?” she asked, as if she didn’t notice the concern furrowing Jaina’s brow. 

Unfortunately, said concern radiated from her. She was leaning against a bedpost, still fully dressed in her usual blue and white, arms crossed. “No,” was all she said.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. For the last two weeks, Sylvanas had always managed to make it to her room first. Jaina would find her there and make some excuse to talk. Then they would just talk. Not about anything personal or emotional. Somehow, and blessedly so, their past tragedies and the wars that followed them had become an unspoken taboo. No, they talked of little, easy things--meetings that one or the other had missed, the construction that constantly surrounded them, planning for the ball, their mutual efforts to gain the allegiance of other races living within their geographical borders. 

Most of the time, Jaina found her own way back to her room. Sylvanas didn’t mind carrying her, but she took this to be a sign that Jaina was actually getting enough sleep, as opposed to just passing out from exhaustion. It was a good thing.

With every night they had their little talks, there was something building. Not a friendship, and certainly not anything like love, but a trust. A trust that Sylvanas had once thought impossible. 

But tonight, Jaina seemed upset, and upset at her, no less.

“What have I done now?” Sylvanas asked her. It seemed a loaded question, once she listened to it leave her own lips. She had already done so much. Too much to deserve this tentative trust, though she was now afraid that she had already lost it.

“You didn’t say you were leaving tonight,” Jaina told her.

“Ah,” Sylvanas acknowledged. No, she had not. She was originally planning to leave in the morning, but the ship schedules had changed. The captains wanted to be underway earlier in order to ensure they made it to the isle while there was still good light, so yes, Sylvanas had arranged to leave very late that night, via a quick portal over to the front. No need for the pomp and ceremony of leaving in the morning and the formal send off that would involve, not to mention no time wasted on such things. “I was planning on telling you now, actually.”

It didn’t help that just beside Jaina was a sea chest, packed and ready to go. Sylvanas had sent word for it to be readied that morning, when she received notice of the change. She probably should have sent word to her wife at the same time, but that felt awfully impersonal. Obviously she had been mistaken. For someone had always who preferred their company, she was honestly terrible at reading women.

“Three days still?” Jaina asked.

“Yes. I’ll be back before the ball,” Sylvanas assured her. 

Jaina breathed out a sigh before uncrossing her arms. “You just...you need to tell me. Even if it’s for a few extra hours, I need to know if I’m on my own here.”

Right. Sylvanas was still used to being the sole ruler. It was nice to have someone to share responsibilities with, but at the same time, it was also nice not have to explain one’s every step. “I didn’t think it would matter that much,” she said.

Obviously, it did. Jaina wouldn't look her in the eye.

“It’s fine,” Jaina lied to her. She finally looked up. “I can send you now, if you want.”

Sylvanas hadn't even considered that. It was easy to forget that Jaina was capable of opening a portal to just about anywhere she could imagine at any time. She rarely made use of that skill, such was her resolve to keep to her promises and maintain the solidarity of their nation. Jaina had visited Kul Tiras in such a manner, maybe twice in the last year, but otherwise kept herself firmly within the confines of New Lordaeron, focused on building the new kingdom. Even those visits had been planned well in advance and very clearly, and formally announced.

While a twinge of guilt wrung through her, the cold and calculated side of Sylvanas noted that she had gained herself a convenient taxi service in this marriage.

A taxi service that had a very pretty little pout.

She watched as Jaina began to cast a portal spell, but stopped her by catching one of her hands as it waved out the incantation.

“I can wait a while longer,” Sylvanas told her. “If anything, I was hoping to talk to you. To...make sure you had everything you needed before I left.”

Jaina didn’t immediately try to struggle out of her grip. She stared Sylvanas down for a moment and seemed to be very aware of the hesitation in that last sentence.

Not as aware as Sylvanas was, of course. Certainly not aware of the tension in those warm fingers she held still, or in the piercing blue gaze that wordlessly tore at her.

Jaina finally wiggled out of her grasp and reclaimed her hand. She sighed again. “I just want to be sure that you meant what you said--that we are equals, both to this nation and to each other.”

“Of course,” Sylvanas replied. She searched Jaina’s expression for some other clue as to why she seemed to feel so strongly over such a small change, but couldn't find one. Damn humans. So hard to read without ears to give them away. “I...apologize for not informing you earlier.”

Jaina’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly as she waved away the apology, “It’s fine. I am just…”

“Still wary of me?” Sylvanas finished for her. “I understand. I am not deserving of your trust, but I would ask that you consider me for it anyway.”

“I want to trust you,” Jaina told her. 

“Do you?” Sylvanas asked. “A year ago, I might have said that you went through with all of this specifically because you weren’t capable of trusting me.”

“A year can change a lot,” Jaina said simply.

She began to cast the portal spell again. This time, Sylvanas didn’t stop her. She didn't know what to say. It was a rare thing for her to be rendered speechless. Instead, she grabbed her sea chest and walked through the portal, then out onto the docks of Boralus, where the ships awaited her. She would be too early now. Oh well.

Sylvanas looked over her shoulder to find Jaina watching her on the other side of the portal, as if waiting for something. Still not able to summon any words, she turned back and walked toward the ships.

 

\---

 

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before a wedding?” Sylvanas objected with a sneer when the guard at the door announced that Lady Proudmoore was there to see her.

“To be honest, Lady Windrunner, I don’t really know how that works if there are two brides,” Jaina answered.

Sylvanas turned to face her. Like herself, Jaina was still in the early stages of getting ready for the ceremony. She wore only a modest dressing gown, obviously not ready for her real dress yet. Her hair was half-done, in a braid just a little more complex than her usual one. Only one side of it had been pinned with white flowers, while the other was bare, still awaiting ornamentation.

Sylvanas offered her a wry smile. It was so satisfying to watch Proudmoore cringe every time she showed her teeth. Let her be reminded of what she had promised. She chose this fate for herself, after all. “Humans are just not that creative, I guess. Either way, I assume you have a good reason for cursing our union then?”

Sylvanas was much less modestly dressed, clad in only a simple shift. Her hair was not anywhere near as done, but she could care less about any of that. Let Proudmoore see what she was getting. Let her balk and tremble at the thought of spending the rest of her days with that cold, lifeless flesh.

Jaina didn't seem to shaken. She stared at Sylvanas, not in disgust of her undeath or in awe of the beauty that still remained to her, but instead with an iron resolve to do nothing more than look her in the eye. “I need to hear you say it. Tell me this isn't another one of your schemes. Tell me that you won't somehow try to smother everyone with Blight just as I've pledged myself and my homeland to you.”

Sylvanas laughed, and watched as the haunting sound made Jaina’s resolve falter just enough to allow her a brief flinch. “What difference would hearing me say it make? You already believe that nonsense to be true. If I were to be stupid enough to try to betray this pact, or to kill our honored guests, then you could bet that the rest of the world would hunt down not only me, but every single Forsaken left in Azeroth. I know they would ensure that our second deaths would neither be quick, nor merciful. I may be petty, and I may be cruel, but I will not doom my people just for some mindless revenge on the Alliance. Remember, Lady Proudmoore, I have as much stake in this as you do, if not more.”

Jaina recovered her composure and repeated, “I need to hear you say it.”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, judging this woman in front of her that dared to challenge the will of the Banshee Queen. Powerful sorceress or not, Jaina Proudmoore right now just looked like an exhausted woman approaching her middle years. Frightened, but determined. Just a little too old and wise to play the blushing bride, and obviously less than enthused about her wedding, not to mention who she was about to marry.

Jaina couldn't say any of that, of course. She had volunteered. She had been the one to offer herself as a sacrifice for peace. It was her own damn fault.

“I have no plans to ruin my own wedding,” Sylvanas eventually told her, “though watching Greymane choke on Blight would make for fantastic entertainment for the reception, if you ask me.” A grin formed on her lips, the kind that usually only came along with victory on the field--the kind that followed as she watched an enemy force flee before her. “But I guess you will just have to trust me.”

 

\---

 

Jaina was an idiot. It had taken three days for her to get there, but she was now at peace with that fact. So at peace that she was back to waiting in Sylvanas’ room for her, like an idiot would.

She wasn’t due to arrive back for another hour or so, but Jaina had run out of distractions. So there she was, laying down on the only side of the bed that had seen any use, and oddly enough, only by her. 

Her streak of restful nights had been ruined, of course. Jaina had spent the last three tossing and turning one room over, worried. Worried she had ruined whatever it was they had built between them. In all her efforts at diplomacy throughout her life, the fact that she could actually have a conversation with her wife had been her greatest triumph. And she had just ruined it. At least she was pretty sure that she had.

Why though? Over something as stupid as a schedule change? These things happened near constantly. Their attention was always in demand. Sylvanas was pretty much in charge of coordinating the eventual assault on N’zoth. She had not only her own armies to command, but those of the other nations as well. Of course she would be needed there. 

So why did Jaina care if she left earlier or later, or even at all?

Once, and not even all that long ago, a few days without those red eyes staring into her soul would have been a blissful reprieve. She could finally breathe then. She didn’t have to worry about Sylvanas judging her actions, disagreeing with her directions, or putting in orders behind her back to have something done this way instead of what Jaina had planned. It always felt like a game between them--like two gladiators who, instead of killing one another, had decided to sit down and play some chess. Somehow, it was more exhausting than any form of combat.

But in the last two weeks, that had changed. They were starting to work together, instead of against one another. Sylvanas was listening to her. She was backing some of her ideas, and explaining why she disagreed with others, usually with good reason. Jaina had learned that Sylvanas was fantastic at seeing the bigger picture, whereas she herself was better with details. 

It was starting to make sense to her. Of course Sylvanas was ruthless. She would do anything to ensure the survival of her people in the long term. She just needed someone to tell her that an all out war against the living, while an obvious and direct route toward that goal, was perhaps not the most considerate plan when it came to the rest of the world’s inhabitants.

Jaina was begging to think that she could actually be the one to tell her that--to keep her in check, not with backstabbing and political maneuvering, but by offering a different, more compassionate logic. Somewhere in that corpse, there was still something left that could understand that. She had seen it, only just in glimpses, but enough to know it was there.

Jaina sat up, trying to gather herself. She couldn’t let whatever this was die. She had to think of some way to explain herself, not just to stave off any personal awkwardness, but to keep them working together instead of against one another. In her own way, she justified it as doing her part ot save the world. 

Jaina looked up, eyes steady on the door. She thought about what she could say, how she could apologize, how she might make it seem like nothing had changed. She closed her eyes for a moment, steadied her breaths, and told herself that she knew what she was doing. She had battled demons and conquerors, founded not one, but now two cities, lead the Kirin Tor, faced the wrath of a homeland that hated her for her failures, and helped to negotiate an end to the wars that had plagued her world. She could do this. She could talk to Sylvanas. She could explain herself.

All that went out the window, though, when she opened her eyes again to find Sylvanas leaning in the doorway, smirking. “So you still like to fall asleep on my bed, even when I’m not here?”

All of her grand plans for diplomacy disappeared. Jaina stood, then walked over to Sylvanas. Instinct told her what to do. She reached out and embraced her, maybe a little too desperately. A little too fondly. A little too much like a heartbroken girl who had spent days worrying, and not at all like a hardened leader who was trying to save a relationship with a valuable ally.

But there was something so reassuring about having that combination of deathly cold skin and armor pressed against her. She could sense the strange, crackling energy of undeath that powered Sylvanas. It was not so unlike a heartbeat, and was just as calming to her in that moment. 

Sylvanas was stiff in her arms. Jaina felt her take a breath, something she only needed to do to provide air to power her speech. 

No. She wasn’t going to get to ruin this with some sarcastic comment. It was time to be honest, both to Sylvanas, and more importantly, to herself.

“I think...I think I’ve missed you,” Jaina said, her warm breath fogging up the cold metal of Sylvanas’ armor.

The body in her arms relaxed, then shifted as its arms snaked out from hers to wrap around her. 

“I think I was hoping that you did,” Sylvanas admitted, her voice soft and low, ringing against Jaina’s temple.

 

\--- 

 

“I’m sure this wasn’t exactly how you pictured your wedding to be,” Vereesa said, offering Jaina a glass of wine as she sat next to her.

All around them, a decidedly strange mixture of creatures were mingling. The massive Tauren chieftain Baine Bloodhoof was talking with the tiny Gelbin Mekkatorque near the buffet, with the help of a blood elf translator, or course. Lor’themar Theron was shaking hands with Turalyon near the high table. Apparently they had met before, and had fought together during the Second War. 

This was what she wanted. Jaina kept repeating that to herself as she took a sip of the wine and looked around. A room full of Azeroth’s finest, gathered in celebration and peace, and not to kill one another. A great victory, perhaps the greatest she would ever achieve. 

Then why did it still feel like a death sentence to her? 

Her eyes found Sylvanas Windrunner in another corner of the room, she was moving from one group to the next. Here, her lips spelled out words in Common, there, she spoke elegant Thalassian, and in the next huddle, vile and rasping Gutterspeak, then guttural Orcish in the next group. Jaina still had a hard time imagining that the Banshee Queen was capable of anything but destruction and mind games. Watching her play the diplomat was so odd. 

Almost as odd as marrying her.

Jaina took another sip of the wine before answering, “No. I’ve imagined a lot of weddings for myself. This was not one of them.”

And she had. Teenage Jaina would often daydream of her wedding to Prince Arthas. Lordaeron would be covered in flowers, just for her and her prince. It was every girl’s fantasy, after all, to become a princess. But she could, and back then, she thought she would. 

Oh how that had changed. How the world had changed. In just twenty odd years, no less. She was a Queen of Lordaeron now, sure, but not at all how teenage Jaina had imagined she would be. Not standing beside Arthas, with their pretty little blonde haired babies in tow. No. 

Not as the leader of the Kirin Tor. Not standing beside Kalec, or Thrall, or any of the men her heart had found a place for over the years.

No, she was Queen to another Queen, a fellow victim of Arthas’ cruelty. An undead monstrosity that a mere month or two ago would have celebrated her demise with a party such as this. But now, it was their wedding reception.

Vereesa lifted her own glass of wine and offered a toast to that statement. She took a long drink before saying, “I can’t say that I pictured my sister’s wedding this way either. Or at all.”

“Even when she was alive?” Jaina wondered.

“Especially then,” Vereesa answered. “Sylvanas was never the type to settle down. She teased Alleria and I relentlessly for marrying humans, but in the same breath said it was a good plan, because we could just find ourselves another one in sixty or so years when they died.”

It was hard for Jaina to imagine Sylvanas teasing anyone. Ripping them limb from limb? Sure. That was easy. Smiling and laughing with her sisters? No. Impossible.

Jaina lifted her glass. “And now here we are.”

Vereesa offered her a sad smile and lifted her glass again. “To getting my sister to eat her words and marry a human.”

“To peace,” Jaina offered instead.

They both finished their glasses.

Their eyes followed Sylvanas as she kept at her games, playing the gracious host. 

“Why did you do it?” Vereesa asked her after a while.

Jaina kept her eyes fixed on the other Windrunner sister. She was so out of place in her white wedding gown. She looked small without her armor--vulnerable, even. A part of Jaina told her that it would be so easy to end all of this now, to just send a spike of frost through her heart, or whatever part of the body would be necessary to kill her. The problem was that Jaina had no idea which one it was. If she did, it would be so easy.

“Someone had to,” Jaina told her. “If we’d left her alone up here, you know she would betray the pact eventually. I can keep her in check.”

Vereesa sighed, turning to her to ask, “But what about you, Jaina?”

“This is more important than me,” Jaina replied. Such words were her mantra anymore. If she kept them in her mind, if she repeated them to herself every morning as she woke, she could live by them and maybe even believe them. She could forget her childish fantasies. She could forget love. She could do what had to be done.

“A life is a terrible thing to waste,” Vereesa complained. “Especially on her.”

Jaina knew that Vereesa had no fondness left for her sister. Well, that was actually a gross understatement. To her, Sylvanas would always represent the Horde, even now that it had been dissolved. She would always be a part of the force that took Rhonin from her. That was something Jaina knew she was not capable of forgiving. While in the past, Vereesa might have entertained the notion of rejoining her sister, her hatred for the Horde and the fact that she had discovered Sylvanas’ plans for turning her undead to do so had decidedly ruined what was left of that sentiment.

Jaina knew that Vereesa had a lot to worry over these days. Her Silver Covenant was dwindling. Many of the high elves that once followed her were now joining one sister or another, either embracing the void with Alleria or accepting Sylvanas’ recent invitation to return home to Quel’thalas to join what remained of their families amongst the blood elves.

And now Jaina was leaving her. She was losing yet another friend to Sylvanas, perhaps the only one that she had left.

“I pictured my wedding as a day people would remember,” Jaina told her. “So I guess that’s still true.”

She reached out for Vereesa’s hand and peeled the wine glass out of it, setting it down on the small table they had claimed. She offered her own hand to hold instead.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Vereesa warned, squeezing the proffered hand a little too hard. “She’s not the Sylvanas I remember. The funny little girl I grew up with died. I’ve accepted that. What’s left is just the worst parts of her--the liar, the schemer, the warmonger.”

“I’ll be on my guard the next sixty or so years, or however long I last,” Jaina promised her.

Vereesa squeezed her hand again, her eyes wandering back to Sylvanas. “We could do something. This world is no place for her now. We could free you. It would be so easy then,” she whispered.

“We can’t,” Jaina protested. “You know that. The Forsaken would never follow anyone else. If she were killed, then the wars would start all over again. It has to be this way.”

“Let me entertain the fantasy, Jaina. Let me believe that I can still save you,” Vereesa pleaded.

Jaina knew that repeating her mantra to Vereesa wouldn’t do any good. No. Vereesa would understand in time. Jaina chose this. She knew it was the right thing to do. It was awful. It wouldn’t be easy. Her life would be lonely and difficult. Each day after this one, she’d go on knowing that it was her duty to struggle, to keep Sylvanas in line and keep this world safe--to keep the peace.

She had to believe it. She had to believe she could do it.


	4. Danse Macabre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious about the fast song they dance to, this is it!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YyknBTm_YyM
> 
> Camille Saint-Saëns - Danse Macabre
> 
> Apparently everyone in this pairing wants to write them ballroom dancing!

Sylvanas suddenly found herself aware of not one, but two pairs of yellow eyes on her. They both regarded her with curiosity, and a bit of concern. Why were they looking at her and not at her dress? The two undead seamstresses were supposed to be making last minute alterations, not staring at her.

Oh. Right. She was humming. That was not a thing she normally did. She was humming to the steady beat of a waltz, pushing and pulling a melody along like the steps of a dance.

But she stopped and asked that the seamstresses hurry on with their work. The ball was starting soon, and she needed to be dressed for it.

She didn't scream or berate them. Happy people tended to work better, after all, and talked less about when one broke character. The Banshee Queen didn’t hum waltzes. She broke the wills of her enemies and granted victory of the Forsaken. She did not hum, or smile, or laugh.

She certainly didn’t find little excuses to touch her wife, now that she knew she could--guiding her through a doorway with a little press on her back or brushing her shoulder when straightening a wind-whipped cloak. No, she did not do those things. She did not have to suppress a grin thinking about those things. She did not look forward to tonight simply to have the excuse to dance with her, even if she had to pretend she hated every second of it.

Because the Banshee Queen did not dance, but Sylvanas Windrunner might have--once, maybe a few times, ages ago.

But it was hard to keep her expression stern. All things considered, everything was going so well. The assault force was assembling at the front with better numbers than previously estimated. The Winter Veil ball was proving to be a great diplomatic opportunity, with many of the guests having arrived earlier that day to engage in negotiations and other much needed talks. Oh yes, and Jaina didn't seem to hate her anymore. In fact, she had gone right past tolerating her and straight to seeming to enjoy her presence. To where that lead, Sylvanas was entirely unsure, but it mattered little.

Yes, things were going well.

The waltz danced on in Sylvanas’ mind, even if her voice didn't carry its tune. It sounded better there anyway, bereft of the odd, incorporeal sound of her. She was meant for a banshee’s scream these days, not for singing. Despite how well things were going, she could not forget that. No, she never would.

Another woman came in to do her hair. A craftsman stopped by to deliver her mask. By the time she was ready, a dozen people had made their way in and out of her room, but none of them were the one person she wanted to see. 

For that, she had to wait. She had to feign patience that was more of the Banshee Queen than Sylvanas--patience more fitting of a commander screaming for archers to hold their fire than a well-born elf who was used to getting what she wanted.

She was doing her best to look bored when she finally heard Jaina’s voice ask, “Are you decent?”

“Questionably,” Sylvanas answered without turning away from the mirror she stood in front of.

Jaina offered a quick laugh before entering her room. 

It was true, though. Without armor, Sylvanas always felt as good as naked. In this dress-- well, this costume--she felt somehow even more exposed. It was meant to resemble a Valkyr, and doubly to serve as a reminder to those who would still oppose her that she would not be easily removed from her throne. The black leather bodice felt familiar at least, but the flowing white of the skirt and it’s high slit didn’t offer much in the way of protection, or leave much to the imagination either. More black leather wrapped her exposed leg, with some on her arms as well, giving hints of armor, but none of its weight. A glowing suggestion of wings in the form of illusion magic sprouted from an elegant twist of thin silvery chains that draped over each shoulder. The look was complete with a winged mask made from an enchanted fabric that covered her eyes, but still allowed her to see out.

It was both terrifying and beautiful, exactly what she wanted to be tonight.

She turned away from her reflection to find Jaina in her own costume. Flashes of white and blue dominated her, not so different from her usual color scheme, but they took shape around her in the form of waves of fabric. It gave her the look of a woman being consumed by the roaring sea. Her mask was much the same, patterned after a rolling wave, but glittering here and there with white jewels, giving it the appearance of sea spray catching the sun. A water elemental.

A water elemental with lovely collar bones and well-proportioned curves. Not bad, for a human. Not bad at all.

“I think we might have overdone it,” Jaina noted as she looked between them.

“Nonsense. We’re both stunning. The purpose of tonight is to put on a show for the other kingdoms,” Sylvanas reminded her. She walked over to Jaina and offered her arm. “So let's give them a good show.”

Jaina's eyes quickly roamed her before she took her arm. Sylvanas saw just a hint of red beneath Jaina's wave-shaped mask as she began escorting her. That was honestly her favorite thing about her outfit, the blush it tried to hide.

She honestly had no idea what to make of this Jaina. Did she have her own Banshee Queen to hide behind? Archmage? Lord Admiral? Was that who she thought she was dealing with this whole time? Regardless of what it was called, that person was once her enemy and still seemed to be most of the time.

But Jaina Proudmoore was different. She was inelegant and sometimes a bit rude, sure, but she cared deeply about many things, and gave her entire heart to them. She wasn't perfect. She didn't always have the right answer, but she wouldn't stop until she did. 

Because of that, she made for a great advisor. Sylvanas cursed herself for not making good use of her earlier, but then again, she was still just getting to know her.

And Jaina, just Jaina, was different still.

Jaina had secretly learned Gutterspeak on her. She would catch her talking to undead citizens, asking if they needed anything, if they had any thoughts on the plans for the city, if they had any living relatives in Stormwind she could help them find. Jaina actually didn’t like fish. She was used to more continental cuisine from her time in Dalaran. Sylvanas had learned she had sweet tooth and did her best not to give into the temptation to overindulge it. Jaina had a heavy respect for magic, even as she sometimes used it for the stupidest little tasks. She would rather conjure a new pen than ask to borrow someone else’s.

Jaina, just Jaina, was a compassionate mess, who had obviously been through a lot, but did her best to hide it behind a kind smile. Her arm was warm and she kept hold of Sylvanas even when no one was watching. 

She wasn't sure what to do about that. Even if this had been going on for the last few weeks, it still felt new and strange. Impossible, actually, but at the same time, such a relief. Sylvanas had decided that she liked just Jaina. She was very different from her, but found her easy to understand. There was no more guessing with her, no more feeling as though she was playing the jailor to her all the time. They could just be.

So Sylvanas was annoyed when they finally made it to the ballroom. Here she knew she would lose this easy Jaina. She’d be stuck with Lord Admiral or Archmage again. In turn, Jaina would be stuck with the Banshee Queen, so it was an even trade. That still didn’t make it any more enjoyable.

“Ready?” Sylvanas asked her as they waited to make their entrance. 

“Not really, but we’re here, aren't we?” Jaina replied.

The doors opened regardless of how either of them felt. Their arms stiffened, and their strides lengthened, their heads were held high. They were leaders, after all.

A suitable array of applause and gasps greeted them. The room was filled with people of all shapes and sizes, in an array of masks and finery. The blue and gold suit with the lion mask was Anduin Wrynn, no doubt. With him, as always, was Genn Greymane, very creatively masked as a wolf. What an animal. He couldn't even imagine himself as anything else, could he? And with them was another, smaller figure. An elf?

Not Alleria. No, she and her kind were not welcome. Sylvanas had made that very clear. Few of the new nations trusted Alleria and her void elves. They were banned from entering New Lordaeron based on those suspicions. They were simply too close to the old gods for comfort. When there is but one enemy left in the world, one cannot take on its aspect and expect to be embraced with open arms.

No, it had to be the other sister. Sylvanas was surprised to see Vereesa. She was certain that her younger sister would never set foot anywhere near New Lordaeron again. Not after she made a scene, storming out of the wedding reception last year. Yet there she was, hiding behind a shining silver mask.

But then again, Jaina's eyes lit up when she saw her. No, Vereesa was not there for Sylvanas. She was here for Jaina. 

But those were among many guests they had to address. After making their entrance, the Banshee Queen and the Lord Admiral parted ways. They had a ball to run.

Sylvanas busied herself with finding her commanders from the front and talking war. That was much more pleasant than playing politics. She half-listened to their reports and waited for her cue.

A band started up maybe an hour or so later, signaling that it was time to clear the dance floor. A steward called the leaders and notables in attendance to the dance floor. A warm hand found Sylvanas’ cold one as she tried to look through the crowd.

“I suppose we have to do this, huh?” Jaina lamented as the people before them parted, revealing an empty dance floor.

“And here I thought this would be your favorite part,” Sylvanas sighed. 

“I hate parties, and honestly I’m not the best dancer,” Jaina whispered as they gathered near the edge.

“Oh come now, live a little,” Sylvanas offered with a smile.

Jaina forced her face into a scowl, though her mask hid most of it. 

She really hated the undeath jokes. Too bad. She was going to have to get used to them at this rate.

The band struck up a sedate waltz. There was no time left for Sylvanas to even question Jaina’s dancing abilities. Surely she knew enough not to embarrass herself. The woman had been through just about every human court on Azeroth, and lived for quite a while in the opulence that was old Dalaran. That was nothing compared to her own centuries in Silvermoon high society, but elven dances were a little different than those of humans. It had also been, well, decades now.

Perhaps she should have thought this through a little more. 

Jaina coughed.

Right. Sylvanas set a gentle hand on Jaina’s back and held up the other with her own. They fell in with the others, forming a spinning circle around the dance floor. A colorful, and outright entertaining circle of the world’s important people. Beside them was the orc Eitrigg, looking about as elegant as an drunken ox as he attempted to lead Shandris Feathermoon through the waltz. To the other side, the Prophet Velen was laughing with his partner, Lady Liadrin, who was being very patient with his slow and careful steps. Neither couple was married, of course. That would be preposterous, right?

Sylvanas learned two things as she turned back to her wife. First, there was no need to worry about Jaina’s dancing abilities. She knew exactly what to do. Secondly, her dress apparently had an open back. Why had it taken her this long to notice? More importantly, why was she so delighted by this fact?

Sylvanas knew that answer, of course. Were she many years younger, a lot more foolish, and most importantly, alive, she would count herself lucky to be married to a beautiful woman such as Jaina. Human or not. Arranged or by choice. In fact, she would be doing her damndest to seduce said beautiful woman. Younger, foolish, and living Sylvanas had been quite the romantic. 

Ancient, wary, and dead Sylvanas, however, knew that she was not something to be desired anymore. So all she could do was appreciate what she still got to enjoy in silence. Anything else was not appropriate, and hardly befitting of the Banshee Queen.

Jaina’s smile didn’t make it easy. “You’re good at this,” she said as Sylvanas expertly lead them through the steps.

“I’ve done it a lot,” Sylvanas replied. “When you have centuries of these sorts of parties under your belt, whether you hate them or not, you eventually learn to dance.”

Jaina squinted at her briefly. Clearly a question was forming in her mind. “Wait, how old are you? I just realized that I have no idea.”

“You know better. A lady never tells,” Sylvanas scolded as she spun Jaina away from her, then back to her. 

Around them, more and more familiar faces clustered. Greymane danced with his daughter. Anduin was doing a respectable job with Taelia Fordragon, who cleaned up very nicely--again, for a human. All of them were still in their own little worlds. They weren’t appreciating the show. 

Sylvanas pulled Jaina closer to her, tightening up their steps with militant precision. They performed a perfect, steady waltz. Perfect, and boring.

Thankfully, the music changed. It almost seemed like another tedious waltz, but then became something else. The rhythm wasn’t right. The tempo was too fast. It was no Bolero, no Tango, no elven variation of either. No, this was something else, something too fast to dance to, almost. 

But Sylvanas always liked a challenge. She watched as many of the other dancers took this as cue to leave the floor, but she moved her hand to Jaina’s waist instead. “Follow my lead,” she whispered to her. “We’re going to give them the show we promised.”

She lead Jaina to the center of the floor, and began to show her exactly how much of a young fool she still was.

 

\---

 

They were spinning. Jaina wasn’t sure when they were going to stop. She wasn’t honestly sure if she wanted it to stop. 

Sylvanas’ mask kept her eyes covered, so what secrets lay in them were still just that, secrets. But that grin. That genuine lightness in her steps. Who was this? Who was spinning her around and around to this whirlwind of music--in front of the eyes of literally every notable person in Azeroth, no less? There was no dance like this. There were no steps that Jaina had painfully learned when she would much rather have been studying magic as a child.

No, this was something entirely of Sylvanas’ creation, and somehow, it worked. This song played more like a march or procession, but she made it into an elegant dance. Her firm hand was enough to keep Jaina in line. Jaina found herself covered in goosebumps. This was amazing. Forget all of her questions about magic and undeath and elven culture. This was what she had wanted to know all along.

She wanted to know this magnificent creature that was making her feel like she was lighter than air. She wanted to know this woman that, despite only having maybe an inch on her at most, somehow stood so tall and commanded the entire room with her performance. She wanted very badly to know this Sylvanas Windrunner, whoever she was.

Jaina found herself short of breath as the song began to near its end. It kept getting faster and faster, but Sylvanas kept going, pushing and pulling Jaina along with her. A tap here meant she was going to twirl her, a pinch there warned that she was going to dip her next. Then she slid her arm farther back and pulled Jaina alongside her for a bit, stepping in time, hip to hip, then back into her again.

Everyone was watching them. Anduin had ditched his lion mask completely to be able to see properly. The King of Stormwind, well, now Stormforge, was just outright gawking at them. Even Genn, who hated Sylvanas more than anyone--enough that he stayed on as Anduin’s advisor and chose to lead Gilneas from afar rather than be a part of her court--looked on in awe. 

Sylvanas seemed to notice their stares. Her grin grew wider still. “Do you trust me?” she asked, spinning Jaina yet again.

“Why?” Jaina questioned back, breathlessly.

“Answer the question. We only have a few more bars,” Sylvanas pressed.

Did she? Had they come that far? Could she, after everything Sylvanas had done? 

No, this wasn’t the same person. It was, but it wasn’t. Jaina understood her now. Sometimes, you had to be who people needed to be, not who you wanted to be. Jaina knew that all too well. This dancer, this creature of grace, this was the real Sylvanas.

“I do,” Jaina breathed. 

Those words somehow felt far more powerful than when she had spoken them at their wedding.

Sylvanas hummed along with the song, which had picked up its main theme again. Her voice was strange and ethereal when it was put to music. She gently tugged at Jaina’s waist, dragging her into a deep dip as the song ended. She hovered over her for a moment, letting the last echoes of the song die out against the vaulted ceiling. Then she kissed her.

Slowly and gently, lovingly even. Her lips were cold yes, but very soft. The edges of their masks caught on one another briefly as Sylvanas pulled away. It lifted hers just a bit, allowing Jaina to see her eyes, which were just beginning to open to reveal a soft red glow. Softness was never a term she thought she could apply to those eyes, or to any other part of Sylvanas, for that matter.

The applause came slowly at first, but eventually roared throughout the room. Sylvanas had given them their show.

Except it was Jaina she left the biggest impression on. 

They were both whisked away so quickly that there was no time for explanations. Lor’themar came to claim Sylvanas for the next dance, and she was only able to give Jaina a little wave as the rest of the guests poured onto the dance floor, consuming it. Anduin found Jaina soon after, and she let him lead her into another waltz.

“What was all that about?” he asked as they swept across the floor at a much more sedate pace than before.

“Honestly? I’m still not sure myself,” she answered, still a little breathless.

He talked of Stormwind, of her friends in the southern half of the continent. She wasn’t really listening. She was trying to remember a time and place that were both lifetimes ago, it seemed, before her current dance partner was even born. 

When she was just sixteen years old, she met someone. Someone who didn’t like her, who looked at her like you’d look at an insect or a rat scurrying under your feet. A Ranger General, a woman, who she later learned, loved women instead of men. Sheltered, innocent, sixteen year old Jaina had never considered that to be a possibility before, and certainly not for herself.

Eighteen year old Jaina told Arthas that she needed to focus on her studies and that they needed to put their relationship on hold for a while. She did not focus on her studies. She found a young, blonde, female, high elf mage in Dalaran to focus on instead. She was no Ranger General, but she was still beautiful. Jaina answered her own questions as to how that would work, two women together. She answered them very thoroughly and as often as her girlfriend desired.

But she was just a teenager. She had her fun and ended things with the elven woman. She chalked it up to being a phase. Twenty year old Jaina moved on, and went back to Arthas. She did what she was supposed to be doing. She was going to be a princess, after all.

Why did she do that again? 

And now, it was dawning on her that she had just kissed the first woman she had ever thought about kissing. Oh right, and she had been married to her for over a year now. Why hadn’t she done that before?

Jaina found herself changing hands, dancing with one partner, then the next, barely listening to what they had to say. That was probably going to end up badly, as a lot of these conversations were of a somewhat important nature, but she couldn’t bring herself to think of anything but that kiss, and that dance. 

She eventually got enough of her wits about her to excuse herself. She wandered over to the refreshment table, opting for a glass of cool water instead of wine. Maybe it was her dress, or the mask that was--after a few hours of wearing it--far more annoying than fun, or maybe all the dancing, but it was incredibly hot in the ballroom.

Jaina channeled a tiny bit of frost magic across her skin, trying to cool herself off. It helped a little, but her mind was still raging like a wildfire. Where was Sylvanas now? Jaina’s eyes darted across the dance floor, but couldn’t find her.

What would she do if she did? Perhaps it was best that she couldn’t seem to pick her out of the crowd right now. If she were to find her, she might do something stupid. Exciting and pleasurable, but very stupid.

A brief touch on her shoulder almost caused her to jump out of her skin. Jaina flipped around to find not Sylvanas, but the other Windrunner sister behind her. Vereesa had left her silver mask behind somewhere. Her blue eyes were brimming with tears as she embraced Jaina.

It was strange to be held by a warm elf. It was also strange that that was strange to her now.

“I can’t believe you actually came,” Jaina said as she hugged her back.

“I had to. Can we go somewhere? Away from this? Just for a moment,” Vereesa pleaded against Jaina’s braided hair.

“I know a place, but it’ll be cold,” Jaina warned.

She led Vereesa out onto the unfinished terrace. Snow drifts had piled on top of the half-laid floor. They found a sheltered spot among the parapets, away from the worst bite of the winter winds.

“Better?” Jaina asked.

Vereesa hadn’t let go of her hand. She still wouldn’t drop it. Her grip on Jaina was just a little too tight. “Much better.”

“How have you b--”

“No,” Vereesa cut her off. “I’m not here to chitchat or catch up with you. I’m here to keep a promise.”

“What promise?” Jaina questioned.

“I’ve found a way to save you from her,” Vereesa stated, as calmly as if she were talking about nothing at all.

Jaina snatched her hand back. “I don’t need saving. I didn’t need saving then, and I certainly don’t need saving now.”

“You do, Jaina. Trust me,” Vereesa pleaded. Though her voice stayed low and calm, her eyes told a different story. Something raged within them that was both frightening and expected. Vereesa, as Jaina knew well, was even more passionate than herself when she got an idea in her head. Dangerously passionate. “She has you under her spell now. I can see it.”

“Vereesa,” Jaina said, grabbing her friend’s shoulder. “Listen to yourself. It’s me. I would know if I were under any sort of spell. I told you. I’ve written you countless times over this last year. I have this under control. Things are going well here. Much better than we thought they would, actually.”

“You let her kiss you,” Vereesa protested. “The Jaina I know would never have allowed that.”

Yes, yes she had. Jaina had, after much debate with herself, decided that she enjoyed that kiss. She might like to try another, but that was a topic to broach with Sylvanas, not her sister. Not her fanatical, grief-stricken sister.

“Trust me,” Jaina begged.

“I trust that you’re afraid,” Vereesa said. “I trust that you know better than to say anything against her, here, in her domain. You’re a prisoner here, but I can free you. I can end her and her reign of terror over this world.”

“I’m fine. I have it under control. This is as much my domain as it is hers,” Jaina repeated, firmly accentuating each word.

Vereesa pulled away from her. “I’m all you have, Jaina. Everything else is just a lie. I see now that you can’t help me, but I know I can still help you.”

Vereesa turned and stalked back off to the ballroom. Jaina followed, trying to catch up, and tripped over the excessive fabric of her dress multiple times in the process. By the time she got back into the ballroom, Vereesa had melted back into the crowd.

Jaina spent the rest of the ball trying to find her and politely making excuses for why she couldn’t dance this dance or meet this person or talk about this trade agreement. She found neither Windrunner sister, despite her best efforts. Many people she asked hadn’t even seen Vereesa at all that night. As for Sylvanas, she was always just out of Jaina’s reach. Here she’d been talking with Go’el, not a moment ago. There she had been dancing with a group of Kul Tiran captains for the last few songs, but had since disappeared.

Eventually, the guests began to filter out as the hour grew late. Jaina’s search had to come to an end as she got caught up and providing a few last minute portals to get some of them closer to home than just their nearest capital cities. She would offer to host them for the night instead, but the guest rooms in the keep were still not anywhere finished. The best she could do was to give them a swift journey back home.

There were two things Jaina was certain of by the end of the night. The first was that Vereesa had all but disappeared. She must have left the keep right after talking to Jaina, but no one saw her go. The second was that she was not going to tell Sylvanas that her sister might be plotting to assassinate her in Jaina’s name. Jaina knew she could handle Vereesa on her own. Well, as soon as she could find her.

Besides, although Jaina was getting to know her kinder side, she didn’t think that Sylvanas would take her sister’s threats lightly. It would not end well for Vereesa. Not at all. For everyone’s sake, it would be best if she dealt with this quietly.

Okay, so there were three things. The third was that she needed to talk to Sylvanas. Maybe that talk could involve something else. She just...she needed to see her. She needed proof that that dance had been real, no less the kiss that came after it. She needed to see that Sylvanas again, as soon as possible.


	5. Wants and Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change for a reason. This chapter is NSFW. You might be able to guess why...

The last portal Jaina made that night was to Boralus. She hadn’t managed to dance with her mother or her brother, but she did speak with them before the music began. Honestly, she was hoping to avoid them, and any comments they might have had on the rest of the evening's events. Thankfully, her brother had already found his way home.

Unfortunately, her mother had not. 

Katherine Proudmoore’s attire was muted compared to many of the more fanciful costumes on display that night. She wore a naval dress uniform, and her mask resembled that of a barnacle covered hull of a ship, complete with a kraken-like tentacle wrapping around to form a figure eight over her eyes. It gave her a severe look, or maybe that was just Jaina projecting what her mother might have to say about what happened earlier than night. She had never been fond of this idea, of her marrying the enemy. Even though Jaina assured her it was the only way to guarantee peace in the north, she was still skeptical. And of course, worried. Worried for her daughter, as was her right.

Worried as she no doubt had been for years, and for many other reasons.

Only her eyes were lighter once they found Jaina. The usual heaviness of stress and a bit of something like fear was missing from them. Not entirely, but noticeably so. 

“I thought you’d already run off,” her mother said as she embraced Jaina.

“Just helping everyone get home,” Jaina explained as she returned the hug.

“I should have known,” Katherine said as she pulled away. She kept hold of Jaina’s shoulders. “You threw a wonderful ball. I only wish I got to see more of you during it.”

“I honestly don't know where the rest of the night went,” Jaina admitted.

Katherine smiled and squeezed her shoulder before letting go. “I think you were a bit...distracted.”

And there it was. She did not need to be talking about that kiss with her mother of all people. Not now, not ever.

“When you told me things were getting better here, I didn't think that was what you meant,” Katherine went on.

“Mother, it’s--"

“You don’t need to explain,” Katherine cut her off. “And I know I'm the last person you want to talk about it with. Honestly, I think you are setting a fine example for the very standards you were preaching during the initial negotiations for these new nations. What I mean is, if you can learn to forgive her--her of all people--then there's nothing we can't do in the name of uniting Azeroth.”

Was it really forgiving of you simply chose to forget what someone had done instead? Or if you chose to believe that they did it for some greater reason, far beyond themselves? Her mother had once told her that she had to forgive herself first. Wise words, easily said, not so easily done. 

Jaina had not forgiven herself. She had not forgiven Sylvanas. Honestly, both of them had done awful, despicable things. She just chose to look around those things--to look in the hidden corners of their lives where some speck of them might remain unstained by those deeds. It was easier then, to just be what you knew yourself to be in the present, and not the sum of your past mistakes. She was a bit surprised to learn that Sylvanas seemed to agree with that sentiment, but relieved all the same.

Of course, she couldn't express that to her mother. Their relationship, while rekindled, was still delicate. Jaina didn't know how her mother would react to such honesty, so she lied by omission. “It's complicated and I don't have time to explain, unless you want to stand here all night. But, I just want you to know you don't have to worry about me. I will be fine here. Actually, I'm already fine here.”

“I always knew that you would be,” Katherine told her, “but you can’t blame me, can you?”

They shared one last hug before Jaina opened a portal back home for her mother. She was just closing it, watching as the last hints of night sky and salty sea air vanished into nothingness, when a Deathguard approached her.

“The Dark Lady wants to see you,” the undead man said. All Forsaken tended to use that old title for Sylvanas. To them, she was almost something of a deity. They still looked to her with a kind of zealous admiration--asking for her protection, her blessing.

“Is she still in the ballroom?” Jaina asked him. “I haven't been able to find her all evening.”

“She said you would know where to find her,” the guard reported.

“Oh?” Jaina started to ask.

Oh. She answered herself. Oh. Her room. Right.

Jaina’s thoughts didn’t catch up with her feet until she was just outside of the royal quarters again. It was better this way. She had less time to panic. But still too much time. She let her body continue its momentum, but her mind raced, not finding a single thought to focus on, instead getting lost in a torrent of them. 

Why did she want to meet here? Was Sylvanas disgusted with her? Had she done something wrong? Did she ruin the dance? Or should she be worried about the opposite? Did she give off a signal she shouldn't have? Did Sylvanas realize how much she enjoyed that night before Jaina herself had? Was she walking into something she wasn't ready for? Or was she ready for it? Did she want to be?

And then she was there. There was no more time. Jaina was standing in front of the open door, almost as quickly as if she had teleported herself there. She hadn't, of course. She could have, but just as Sylvanas still had a place set for her at dinner, Jaina walked just about everywhere. It was normal. Walking was a normal thing to do.

It was not normal to suddenly realize that Sylvanas’ lithe form looked so inviting when it was half-shrouded in darkness. It was not normal for her to appreciate every perfect line and curve of her that the dim light of the single lamp on her desk revealed.

Jaina almost felt ashamed of herself. Almost. Was she this easily seduced? Just a kiss and a dance? She had been with princes and dragons before. Her love life read like some sort of fucked up fairy tale. Surely there was more to capturing her attention than that.

Sylvanas was bereft of her mask. She carefully unwound the black leather that had been entwined around one of her arms. She had already removed the straps from her leg and shrugged out of the shoulder jewellery. Its illusion was a puddle of dull white light on the floor. The leather strap from her arm joined it as it fell to the smooth stone beneath her feet.

All that was left of her costume was just the black leather bodice and the silky white skirt. It was strange to see Sylvanas in anything but armor, but damn if she couldn't pull it off.

“I wanted to apologize,” Sylvanas began.

She always seemed to be able to hear Jaina coming. Maybe it was the elf ears, or untold centuries of ranger training. All Jaina knew was that she hated it. There was no surprising her.

Sylvanas kept her back to her. She ran a hand through her loose hair. It looked soft, though there was no shine left to it. Another thing that death had stolen from her. “I overstepped,” Sylvanas continued. “What, I'm not sure, but I overstepped it. I wanted them to see. I wanted to show the world what we’d made here, all that we have accomplished. I wanted to prove that I had it better than them. Instead, I think I've just turned this night into an interesting bit of gossip, probably more at your expense than mine. So for that, I am sorry. I should not have kissed you.”

What could she say to that? Jaina had expected every extreme but this one. She took off her mask as she tried to collect her thoughts, grateful for the cool air of Sylvanas’ room as it was finally allowed to brush her face.

A long moment of silence dragged on between them before Sylvanas slammed a fist down on her desk, “Well? Let's hear it then. Tell me that wasn't the kind of trust you were giving. Tell me I've ruined this. Tell me what a monster you still think I am. Go on,” she demanded.

But Jaina didn’t think any of that. No, she knew better now. There were no real monsters left in the world but N’zoth. The rest, well, they were just people like her. Broken, angry, and tired people, but alive--or um, present, active, continuing. They were what remained. They were neither good nor bad--neither completely dark nor radiant with light. No, not after all that they had done, and all that had been done to them.

If there was anything Jaina had learned that night, it was that sometimes, an action expressed much more than words ever could. She understood. She knew. Sylvanas, in all her perception, in all of her wisdom--always one step ahead--didn't see it yet. She had to show her.

So as Sylvanas turned around to try to goad her again, Jaina stepped into the room and kissed her.

Her lips were cold. Her teeth were sharp as they clattered unexpectedly against Jaina's. For once, Sylvanas was surprised, but not so much that she didn't eventually close her mouth. Jaina thought she might pull away and demand an explanation, but she didn't. She kissed back, softly again, like she was afraid she would frighten her away at any moment.

But Jaina wasn't frightened. She wasn't manipulated or coerced. She was enjoying this. She wanted this. She was stupid for not wanting it before.

And she wanted more. She offered first, but Sylvanas quickly took the cue. She kissed her harder, and truer, like someone who hadn't been kissed in decades. Well, that part was probably accurate. Maybe. 

But then she pulled away, just a little. “You could have said something,” she breathed against Jaina’s cheek. The strange dual tone of her voice was heavy on the physical side--rough and throaty and amazing.

“When?” Jaina asked before daring to slide a hand up to Sylvanas’ neck and into her hair. It was indeed soft. “I tried to find you again, but you were everywhere I wasn't.”

“I thought you were angry with me,” Sylvanas confessed.

“I was surprised, actually. It took me a bit to decide, but,” Jaina began as she went in for another experimental kiss. “I decided that I liked it.”

Sylvanas allowed it, eventually pulling away to say, “I didn't think you would. Your tastes seemed to be strictly of the living and male variety.”

“Not always,” Jaina told her. “Not now.”

Sylvanas hummed, taking this as a sign. She slid a cool hand through the wreckage of Jaina’s hair, which had mostly fallen out of its intricate braid with all the night's activity. She pulled her close, lips hovering over hers. “Are you certain?” Sylvanas asked. 

She didn't give Jaina a chance to answer. Her lips crashed hungrily into hers--knowingly full of want, and more than a little desperate. 

That kiss told Jaina everything she needed to know. It spoke of affection and curiosity, but mostly of a dire need to be wanted, and an incredulous joy at realizing that, yes, she was wanted. Sylvanas kissed as well as she danced. She smelled faintly of rosewater and tasted of nothing. Her skin was cold, but in an inert way. It didn't radiate cold, but instead warmed with Jaina's.

Jaina had every intention of savoring that moment, of exploring whatever this was with cautious reverence. Intentions, though, were fickle things. It was all too fast and too good and too strange at the same time. This wasn't a time for sweet words or promises. Clearly, what they both needed was to dive as deep as possible into this and forget about the rest of the world. 

Yes. That was what she wanted.

Forget fear. Forget the lingering voice in the back of her mind that kept chanting to her that this was the shape of an enemy she was committing to memory. Jaina didn't want to hear it. She only wanted to know more about the smooth skin under her hands, about the sensitive elven ears that twitched ever so slightly at her touch. Her hands roamed over sharp cheeks, long ears, a slender neck, defined collarbones, hard shoulders, and soft hair that was always in the way.

“Why?” was eventually breathed against her lips.

It was a loaded question. Why do you want me? But I'm undead. But I'm a murderer. But I’m your enemy. But I’ve lied and killed and hated. But I didn’t always. But you know that now.

“Because I want to,” Jaina replied. It was the most honest thing that had come out of her own mouth in some time.

Even in her teenage fantasies, she had never imagined Sylvanas to be the hesitant type. Jaina was a little shocked, but very, very wrong. Sylvanas wasn’t hesitant. She just wanted permission.

\---

In her wildest of dreams--back when she had dreams--Sylvanas would not, nor could not have imagined this. Jaina Proudmoore was staring at her, with kiss-swollen lips, all but begging for more.

She just had to oblige her. 

Sylvanas was well-practiced at kissing women, albeit rusty, due all decades of undeath and the shame that came with it. Even now, with her flesh empowered by the Valkyr and restored to as close a likeness to her living body as possible, the old nagging sense of self-disgust called to her. But now was not the time for that. Jaina, whom she had found herself growing a little too fond of as of late, actually seemed to feel the same way about her, and she was waiting for her. 

The logical part of her mind said that this was a mistake. It was too much too soon. But there was another part of her--one that was currently feeling something close to being alive--that screamed for her not to pass up this chance.

For once, she listened to that voice, and not the first one.

Jaina’s neck was warm under her lips. She smelled of a light, lavender perfume, and a little bit of sweat. Like all living things, she was always moving. Here a pulse, there a breath. It was as intoxicating as it was vexing. And the sounds she made. They were something else entirely. A shaking gasp, a bit back moan--each something between passion and distress--sublime, really.

Sylvanas had never had a human partner before. Plenty of other elven women, yes, but none of the small-eared variety. She was pleased to learn that they were not all that different. Jaina's ears didn’t move, but they were suitably sensitive, or at least a little sigh told her so. She had to laugh at herself a bit. In another life, she would never have considered kissing a human. Now, she could hardly stop herself.

And she didn't. She found herself exploring with her hands as her mouth was kept busy. Jaina didn’t object as those hands found their way under the straps that held her dress to her shoulders. She only inhaled sharply when they began to slide downwards.

“If you want me to stop--" Sylvanas began to offer.

“I don’t,” Jaina cut her off, eyes fluttering a little, as if it pained her to open them. Once she did, she gave Sylvanas a deadly serious look, a piercing blue against the warm color of the skin that she was revealing more and more of.

Good. She didn’t particularly want to stop, but it was only appropriate to offer. A bit of pride welled up as Sylvanas slid the dress slowly off of Jaina’s shoulders. Perhaps she was still something of the desirable beauty she used to be, if in a very different way. Clearly, Jaina seemed to think so.

Sylvanas found herself with a secret smile as she leaned over Jaina to unlace the back of her dress. That made it easy to drag her teeth ever so lightly against her neck. She drew more stifled noises out of her, playing with Jaina just as she played at taking her time with the laces. Sylvanas had to wonder how long it had been since she had been touched like this. Surely, her male partners were not so attentive or playful. 

No, she had to show Jaina just how different she would be. 

The dress was held up only by its corset-like middle. As Sylvanas undid the last lace, the waves of white and blue fabric fell away, pooling on the floor like a puddle of water made satin. It was beautiful, but nothing near as beautiful as what it revealed. Jaina was a storied beauty, sure, but Sylvanas was of the opinion that such things could not be judged on a pretty face alone. Now, seeing everything on display in front of her, she had to agree. Humans were pleasantly curvy compared to her own lean frame, and Jaina was no exception. With a corset in the dress, there was no need for her to wear any undergarments on top, so she could see just exactly how curvy.

She could get used to this hourglass-like human shape.

Sylvanas found herself quickly pressing the revealed flesh against her own, needing desperately to feel its warmth. Maybe even wanting to protect it--to take care of it. Just a little.

Jaina reached for the straps of Sylvanas’ dress as she pulled her close, but she swatted her hand away. “Bed first,” she protested. 

She backed Jaina up to the side of the bed, easing her down onto it as the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Trust and awe and lust and confusion sparkled up at her from blue eyes below. It was so strange, but exactly what she needed. With them was a hint of disappointment. Oh right, Jaina was left with nothing but a pair of panties, and Sylvanas still had her dress on. That wasn’t exactly fair.

She quickly shrugged out of it, leaving her self-doubt with the garment in a pile of the floor. She knew she was still stunning, just not exactly how she was when she was still living. Clearly, Jaina seemed to enjoy how she looked now, and that was all that mattered. Nevermind that she had forgone any undergarments herself that night. Lingerie and costumes were generally a poor match. No, she could bare it all and still be confident. She was Sylvanas Windrunner, after all, dead or alive.

Sylvanas leaned over her wife, joining skin to skin, hot to cold. Underneath her, Jaina shivered, but she didn’t turn away. In fact, she snaked her arms around her, pulling her closer. 

“You’re so elegant. I can’t stand it,” Jaina whispered as Sylvanas began to pepper her exposed chest with light kisses. “I’ve always been so jealous of you for that, for all your grace and composure. Even now…”

“Without my clothes?” Sylvanas jeered between kisses.

“Especially,” Jaina told her, ending the word with a hiss as Sylvanas found a sensitive spot between her breasts. 

“Jealousy,” Sylvanas began as she dared to turn her attention toward the curves she had been eyeing earlier, “was how I first reacted to other women. How dare she be so pretty? More like, how dare I want her.”

“And me?” Jaina had to ask.

“Honestly,” Sylvanas confessed, “for you, it was wondering what everyone saw in you. It took me some time, but I think I’m beginning to appreciate it.”

To emphasize that, she ran her hands up from Jaina’s hips to shoulders, outlining her shape. Jaina let out a little laugh that let her know that yes, this was still fine. She was still wanted. 

For that, Sylvanas kissed her again. 

“This is crazy,” Jaina whispered against her lips as they parted. 

It was. It was heady and strange and all together unfathomable. Sylvanas didn’t want to dwell on those things. She wanted to show Jaina exactly how crazy it could get.

So she said nothing in response. No witty retort, no bad joke, no twist. It was a relief to be silent in a world where even her everyday speech was something she had to fight with. She could just do. That was allowed now, at least she hoped so.

She guided Jaina all the way onto the bed, and in the process rid her of the last piece of cloth between them. Sylvanas propped her up against the pillows of her disused bed, pillows that, appropriately enough, had only ever been a place of rest for Jaina, and would now hold her up again. Well, this time for an entirely different reason.

She slid in-between her legs, lithe form easily fitting there, and brushed Jaina ever so slightly with her body. Jaina shivered again, but looked up expectantly, clearly wanting more contact.

Ah yes, she would be the type to need taking care of first. The most frustrating ones always were. They’d fight you all the way to the bedroom, then melt. 

Well good, she was in for an interesting night.

Sylvanas captured her in a kiss, then slid her hand up Jaina’s inner thigh, very slowly. She cataloged the vibrations of her gaps and moans as they travelled from Jaina’s mouth into her own. She especially enjoyed the frustrated grunt when her hand slid slowly back down toward her knee again. 

“So eager,” Sylvanas pulled away and teased. “And here you had me thinking this was just something you began to think about today.”

“Not really,” Jaina confessed. 

Well, that was not expected. She’d have to ask more about that later. For now, she had work to do. She kissed her way down Jaina’s neck and slid her hand back up again, tracing just the outline of her center. Jaina squirmed underneath her, trying to force her hand, but Sylvanas was much stronger than her. She had no chance. 

Sylvanas grinned to herself, sliding her hand down Jaina’s other thigh, reveling in the trail of goosebumps that were left in its wake. “Well, I’ll tell you that I’ve had the thought a time or two before, enough to have thought about what I would do to you,” she said.

Jaina was already flushed, but that turned her an even darker shade of pink. And it had the benefit of shutting her up too.

Sylvanas made good on her word, sliding her hand quickly back up and giving Jaina what she wanted. Only a little bit of pressure, but something. Enough for her to feel how wet she was.

They would definitely need to be throwing more balls in the future.

Jaina finally let a moan escape without trying to hold it back. Her hips bucked, and her skin was like fire compared to Sylvanas’. 

Still, Sylvanas kept her timid touch. She waited until Jaina whined and tried to press herself against her fingers before she gave her more. 

Sylvanas loved women. She loved every part of them. She loved their softness, their smooth skin, their rounder faces. She loved beautiful women. She hated that she hadn’t been appreciating this one, the one that chose to marry her. Sure, that marriage never had these kind of intentions. It was for purely political reasons. The woman writhing beneath her could destroy this kingdom they were building together in an instant if she wanted to. She was here to keep Sylvanas in check, but she certainly was doing a poor job of that at the moment. Sylvanas liked things much better as they were now, decidedly the other way around.

But what a sight Jaina was--her pale skin flushed pink in all the right places, a little glow of sweat standing out against her hairline, flashes of stunning blue as she opened her eyes to try to demand more with her gaze because she couldn’t quite remember the words to do so. 

Sylvanas had almost forgotten how much fun this was. “I had a feeling I would know what you wanted,” she teased, adding more pressure and leaning over Jaina. 

Jaina was trying to reciprocate, but her hands couldn’t seem to find any purchase. Instead, they roamed over Sylvanas’ back, trying to pull her closer, but lacking in any strength. 

Sylvanas tested her theory with two fingers. A shuddering gasp told her she was very much correct. So Jaina Proudmoore liked to be fucked. She couldn’t say she was surprised.

Well, really, she was delighted.

Jaina’s grasps at her back became clawlike and desperate, trying to draw her further in in any way that she could. Her nails dug into Sylvanas’ skin, but she didn’t mind. That’s how she knew that she was doing well, after all. Too well, it seemed. Hitching gasps followed the trail of those nails down her back, echoing off of her chest as Jaina began to tense up beneath her. 

So it had probably been a while for her too. Certainly not as long as it had been for Sylvanas, but she knew the frustration all too well. She gave Jaina what she so desperately needed, harder and faster. She listened to those gasps, enjoying a few choice curse words that mixed in with them, one even in Orcish. She felt her fall apart and captured her with a kiss just as she did, letting Jaina cry out against her lips.

Yes, they would definitely be having more balls in New Lordaeron. For sure.

“Fuck,” was the final curse, appropriately enough, and Jaina let the word draw out as she collapsed into the pillows. “Why haven’t we been doing this?”

“We were still too busy hating one another,” Sylvanas reminded her.

She rolled off of Jaina, coming to rest beside her to give the other woman some space to breathe as she came back down.

“Well that...that was stupid,” was all the wisdom Jaina could offer as she tried to catch her breath. 

Sylvanas laughed. She found herself tracing patterns on Jaina’s shoulder, watching her chest rise and fall as she struggled to force air back into her lungs. Ah, the plight of the living, with their bodies always trying to keep them so painfully alive, but so beautifully so.

This might be a problem. She was just getting used to the idea of Jaina being an asset to her plans instead of hinderance. Now she would have to wrap her head around the idea of actually developing a relationship with her and being her lover. What a strange and wonderful world they had engineered for themselves here.

Jaina eventually turned to face her. Afterglow was still making her eyes hazy, but Sylvanas could get used to that softness. It suited her better than the usual piercing glare.

“I want to touch you,” Jaina said, almost as a warning. She waited for a moment.

“Well?” Sylvanas replied.

Jaina didn’t say anything. She smiled. She leaned over to kiss her. An honest, slightly sloppy kiss. Jaina didn’t have centuries of practice, but she made up for it in her earnestness. She predictably went for Sylvanas’ ears next, nibbling along them as she crawled on top of her. Of course a human would obsess over her ears. Luckily for both of them, Sylvanas loved it. She’d never admit it, but she loved it.

She straddled one of Sylvanas’ legs and planted own her thigh between them. Looking smug about it, she lightly dragged her thigh over Sylvanas’ center, trying to imitate a bit of the teasing she’d received earlier. Only when Sylvanas brought her own thigh up to meet between Jaina’s legs, that smugness vanished, and was replaced by a closed eyes and a sharp intake of breath.

“Not fair,” Jaina protested, but ground herself down all the same. 

“Then make it fair,” Sylvanas offered.

Jaina accepted that challenge by moving her thigh out of the way reaching a warm hand down to Sylvanas. Her touch was hot and a little clumsy, but amazing all the same. It had been years. Sylvanas thought she would never be touched by someone else this way again. Yet here they were. 

Clearly, Jaina had not been lying with her “not always” from before. She knew what to do. Her fingers found just the right spots, places on her body that Sylvanas had long since neglected. She didn’t need to feel such things. She was a survivor, a scion of her people. She was dead. She was repulsive. Pleasure was a thing that was behind her.

She was almost surprised at how quickly her corpse of a body remembered this dance, and how much it craved to move to its beat. The feeling was overwhelming. Soon Sylvanas was the one letting out shaky sighs. Her hips rolled, and with them, so did Jaina against her thigh, hot and wet again.

Jaina eventually collapsed against her, her moans joining with Sylvanas’ as she kept her hand moving. Sylvanas was almost amazed that the warm feeling that was beginning to swell within her gut. She was so sure it wasn’t even possible for her anymore. How or why or when she’d come to that conclusion, she didn’t know, but Jaina was proving her wrong.

She spilled over the edge so quickly. She had just enough time to put a hand over her own mouth, afraid that whatever cry she might let out might be too close to her banshee scream to be safe for Jaina. It was too fast, just as this whole night had been, and too strange and too good. Just as they had been doing all night, it was best not to think about any of that, and just enjoy the moment.

Jaina on the other hand, didn’t make any sort of effort to muffle herself as she came again, against Sylvanas’ thigh. She fell into her, spent and heavy and warm.

Well, that definitely wasn’t part of her plan. Sylvanas usually didn’t like when things didn’t go according to plan, but for tonight, she could make an exception to that rule.

The problem would be what to do about it in the morning. 

“Damn,” Jaina eventually said into the crook of her neck. “I...it’s…”

“Shh,” Sylvanas shushed her. As the fleeting euphoria left her, she rolled Jaina back to her side again, but kept an arm around her. “It’s probably better for you to shut the hell up for once, for now.”

“You’re right,” Jaina said. “You are absolutely right.”

She fit well against her. Warm and soft--the notches of her curves made for a good contrast against Sylvanas’ thin frame. It almost made her think this could work, that they wouldn’t need to figure it out. Maybe they could just accept that they fit together well, both as leaders and now, well, physically. Convincing the rest of the world about the first part of that statement would be the problem.

But that was a challenge for the lighter hours of the day. 

Jaina grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She gave a sleepy-eyed promise as she settled her head on Sylvanas’ shoulder, “I don’t hate you. I just needed to understand you.”

“So what do you think of me now?” Sylvanas asked.

“I think you’re beautiful, and that you might just understand me too,” Jaina muttered. She closed her eyes and started to drift off before she could add anymore to that statement.

Sylvanas let her sleep. Sure, she had letters to write, requisitions to go over, and orders to adjust, but she wouldn’t dare to move.


	6. Secrets Twice Kept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I make shit up about void elves because I need it for my plot.

Jaina woke up alone, but warm. As she stirred, her mind tried to puzzle out the unfamiliar sensations it was experiencing. Why was she naked? Her sheets weren't satin, were they? She smelled wood smoke and a hint of rose. Wait. Where was she?

Blurry vision brought her to reality. She was in Sylvanas’ bed. Naked and huddled under the covers. Oh. Shit. Right.

Damn.

Jaina knew even without looking around the room that she was alone. She couldn't sense the odd energy of undeath anywhere near her. 

But she could see a small vase of flowers on the desk, along with a tray of pastries. That should not have made her heart flutter the way it did. She was a grown woman. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd woken up in someone else's bed.

But it was the first time that said someone had left her flowers and breakfast. 

Jaina found herself giving a cautious look around to make sure she was truly alone before she slipped out of bed, bringing one of the maroon satin sheets with her to cover herself with. She wrapped it hastily around herself before venturing over to the desk.

Three black roses in a simple vase. Two ravenberry tarts, a favorite of hers. One note, written in elegantly-formed Common letters.

_I didn’t want to wake you. I hope you don't mind. Many meetings this morning that I can't miss. Find me after?_

_\- S_

Jaina's mind went blank. If anyone were there with her, they would have witnessed her staring intently at the tray and its contents for at least a solid minute, maybe two.

She slept with Sylvanas. That was already a lot to comprehend. And then Sylvanas had left her breakfast with a cute little note? Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen, the undead terror, burner of Teldrassil, Warchief of the Horde, brilliant strategist and merciless general, had left her roses. Oh and tucked her into the covers and left a small fire burning in the hearth to keep the room warm. Let's not forget that.

What the fuck?

And Jaina loved everything about it. This was almost better than waking next to her would have been. Honestly, the more she thought about it, the more she preferred it. This was way less awkward.

She learned that morning that it’s kind of hard to eat when you can’t stop smiling.

Nevertheless, she made it through one of the tarts before she thought to conjure up a pen to write her reply on the note. Her own letters were much less graceful, but they did the job.

_Thank you for breakfast. Don't worry. I will find you._

_\- J_

Would signing it with a heart be too much?

Yes, yes it would. Jaina restrained herself.

She couldn't stop replaying the events of the night before in her head--dances, kisses, and everything thereafter. Sylvanas hadn’t been anything like she expected. Every moment they seemed to spend together was cause for a new surprise. Not that Jaina found herself minding that at all. Whoever this person was that she was getting to know, well, she liked her very much.

Maybe a little too much, all things considered.

Wait. Her mind drifted away from memories of adorably twitchy ears, a self-satisfied little grin, and cool skin bereft of any adornment other than that beautiful sapphire necklace that she always wore

“Shit,” Jaina said to herself, mouth half-full of a bite of the second tart.

Vereesa. She needed to find her. She should have found her last night. 

Jaina abused more magic than usual to get herself dressed and presentable at record speed, regrettably leaving the rest of the tart uneaten in the process. Who knew that hard-earned mastery over the arcane could be used to get rid of sex hair? She then continued the trend by teleporting herself around the city, finding messengers and dignitaries alike, begging off of the meetings and plans she had for that day. She had an important matter come up. Yes. She could say that without it being complete lie, right?

The last person she had to speak with was Archmage Modera, who was the visiting delegate of the Kirin Tor in charge of their side of the planning for the Dalaran move. Jaina was dreading having to miss this particular meeting, as the city was due to arrive in New Lordaeron in just a few days. 

“But Jaina,” Modera objected as Jaina tried to cancel the meeting. “Don’t you remember what I told you last night? We landed the city at dawn today. Didn’t you want to meet there?”

Oh. Hmm. 

“I’m truly sorry,” Jaina quickly apologized. “There were a lot of things said and done last night. It must have slipped my mind. That’s well ahead of schedule?”

Modera gave her a rather incredulous look. She knew Jaina too well to attempt to politely ignore that comment. Great. Sylvanas was right. Her little stunt had caused quite a stir. Enough of one for people to maybe start suspecting something dangerously close to the truth.

Great.

After a pause for that, Modera went on, “We were able to borrow Khadgar earlier than expected.”

“How is the old coot anyway?” Jaina asked. They were still not on the greatest of terms. Khadgar mostly avoided her, as he had ever since she stormed her way out of Dalaran years ago. When they did meet, their conversations were as brief and cold as possible. Jaina missed him, in the way one might miss a familiar, but annoying noise--like the sound waves crashing on a shore that sometimes would keep you up at night, but other times serve to lull you into a peaceful sleep. She had a feeling he wasn’t quite ready to forgive her for abandoning the Kirin Tor during the fight against the Legion. 

She didn’t blame him.

“Same as ever, really,” Modera said knowingly. “Full of terrible jokes and always asking us for things that don’t make any sense. I asked him if he wanted breakfast when we were done with the move. He told me he needed two dozen eggs, uncooked, and not to ask why.”

Jaina chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

A thought occurred to her. Vereesa was living in Stormwind these days, but she did used to have an apartment in Dalaran. Maybe she’d gone there?

“If you don’t mind,” Jaina offered, a plan forming as she spoke. “I think I’ll go to the city now. I’ll take care of my side of the preparations there, then we’ll see if we still need to meet today?”

Modera shrugged. “Whatever suits you. I know that the supply caravans won’t be ready for a while yet. I assumed you just wanted an excuse to set foot on familiar ground again.”

“I wish it were only that,” Jaina told her. 

She teleported to Dalaran after bidding the Archmage a hasty goodbye. 

Officially, she was no longer a member of the Kirin Tor. She formally gave that up upon being named Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. The Kirin Tor were neutral, after all, and her actions in the war against the Horde that followed were decidedly not neutral. That and well, the purge. Many other things. No, she didn’t deserve to see herself as neutral anymore. 

But unofficially, she was still welcome in the city. She visited often, but made a point of avoiding many of the shops and public building she had once loved. She looked down as she walked the streets, preferring to see cobblestones instead of the hard green and now mostly golden eyes of the blood elves she once tried to expel from this place. She would visit, but she would never stay long. This wasn’t her city. Not anymore.

This time, however, Dalaran was blissfully empty. During moves such as this, the less magically-inclined citizens of the city usually bolted up their doors, secured their possessions, and found another place to stay until the city was stationary again. It was almost eerie, seeing the place abandoned. It dredged up an old fear in Jaina, one she knew well. An echo of a feeling she had at other times felt she saw this place abandoned, but for an entirely different reasons. It seemed like something from lifetimes ago, but at the same time, not nearly far enough in the past for her liking.

She shook it off and headed down the familiar path towards Vereesa’s old apartment. Jaina had had the good sense to drop herself straight into the Silver Enclave so she could avoid having to chat with any of the high ranking mages up in the Violet Citadel, or anyone who might be stationed near the usual arrival point by Krasus’ Landing. The apartment was far away from all of that, on a quiet alley, deathly quiet now.

Jaina wasn’t sure if she should try knocking. She deemed it best just to see if the door would open. Surprisingly, it did, but she could immediately see why. The place was abandoned. No sign of any recent habitation lingered. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture even, just a thick layer dust and cobwebs. 

Well, there went her easy answer. It was strange to see the place empty. She remembered it so full of life and of clutter, as one might expect with twin boys constantly running around the house. Every time she’d go to visit her friend, there would be a crash in the other room, or even a wrestling match that just had to be going on right in front of them as they were sitting in the living room and talking over tea. Vereesa never seemed to know what to do about all of it. She blamed it on her sons’ human ancestry. 

Jaina was beginning to doubt that elves were any less rambunctious. She wondered what the Windrunner household had been like, all those untold years ago, when the sisters were still children. Did Vereesa and Sylvanas fight mock battles in their living room? Did they argue over the dinner table? Did they make up before bed, just in time to tell one another stories as they lay in little beds, side by side, waiting for sleep to come?

No. Enough of that. She had to stay focused. She had to fix this.

Vereesa might have just gone home to Stormwind. Although Jaina could bring herself there just as easily as she came to Dalaran, doing so would feel too much like a betrayal, especially if she did so without notice. Trying to explain her reasons for doing so to Sylvanas was the last thing she wanted to do. The idea was to keep Vereesa’s threats a secret until she could talk her out of them.

But that didn’t mean she had to keep them to herself.

Jaina found her way out into the main square of the Silver Enclave. Sure enough, she found a few void elf mages releasing the protective wards on the buildings there. Vereesa would be furious if she saw them here, in the place that she had created for those high elves that wished to remain as they always had been, and not to take up any new magical influences. Sylvanas wouldn’t exactly be pleased about their presence either. She had agreed that their kind would be allowed to assist with the Dalaran move, but only if they agreed to stay within the city’s confines and make no attempt enter the rest of New Lordaeron. Welcome or not, they were exactly what Jaina needed.

“Excuse me,” she asked, drawing their attention. “Could one of you get a message to Alleria Windrunner for me?”

Jaina didn’t know much about their connection to the void, but she knew that it allowed them to do some very useful things. The void was without space or time, so they were able to pass messages along it instantly, without the need for any sort of teleportation or portals. Such exercises in telepathy were an art Jaina had strayed away from, even in her deepest delves into the arcane. It didn’t feel right, being in people’s minds. Surely, everyone needed a space for themselves and themselves only.

So she had to take advantage of those who disagreed with her. 

Luckily, one of the mages recognized her. “Of course, Queen Proudmoore,” he offered. “What would you like me to tell her?”

Jaina thought for a moment before replying, “Tell her I need to speak with her urgently and privately. I can provide transportation from wherever she is to me.”

The elf nodded and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Darkness shrouded his features, but then disappeared as quickly as it came. “She is curious as to what this is about,” he said.

“Um,” Jaina faltered. “Family business?”

Right. Again, technically not wrong. Alleria was her sister-in-law now. She had the right to say such things. That was a strange realization to have all the sudden, but true.

The void elf gave her a look before seeming to communicate that message. Jaina noticed his eyes grow dark this time. “She can meet you, but it’ll have to be quick. She is in Boralus now, on the docks, waiting for a ship to the front.”

Right. The void elves also proved to be immune to N’zoth’s madness. Much to Sylvanas’ chagrin, Anduin’s kingdom of Stormforge was using them as scouts. Alleria was a very busy woman these days, no doubt.

“I’ll have a portal ready for her in a few minutes. Thank you,” Jaina offered as she walked off.

She tried to think of a spot she knew would be without prying eyes or ears. In the end, Vereesa’s abandoned apartment was closest and easiest. She returned there and shut the door behind her before opening a portal to the Boralus docks.

She wasn’t too far off. Alleria was obviously on the lookout for the portal, and made her way to it as soon as it shimmered into existence. Jaina watched her change from a flat and distorted image to a three dimensional creature of flesh and blood as she passed through the portal. 

Alleria’s blue eyes were full of concern, and flicked to alarm when Jaina closed the portal behind her. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Family business? What has my sister done now?”

“It’s not the sister you’re probably thinking of,” Jaina told her. 

Alleria looked around, distrusting eyes softening a bit as she realized where they were. “Then why would you...wait, Vereesa?”

“Have you seen her recently?” Jaina asked.

Alleria shook her head. “I can’t say I have. I’ve been scouting the Black Isle with my team and Sylvanas’ dark rangers. It’s a bit hard to keep up with family when you’re dodging tentacles and naga for weeks on end.”

Jaina wished it could be different for her. Of all the people she’d met in her life, Alleria was probably the most deserving of a rest, yet there she was, at war again. And while her husband was instrumental in bringing about the new peace and the nations born from it, so much so that he was more of a diplomat than a fighter these days, Alleria was only welcome in a select few courts anymore. No one trusted her. No one trusted what she claimed she could ignore.

Even Jaina found herself with an odd feeling of wariness around the eldest Windrunner sister, but it was something she had to ignore herself. 

“She was at the ball last night,” Jaina said. She found herself at a lack for words. How would she describe this? How could she say it gently?

She looked at Alleria. The hardness in her eyes. Her tattoos. Her scars. Marks on her that she both chose and did not choose to make. Marks of thousands of years of pains that Jaina could hardly comprehend. There was no need to be sensitive. She could take it.

“She said she’s going to kill Sylvanas to free me from her,” Jaina eventually blurted out.

“Vereesa said this?” Alleria asked. She did not seem to believe it was possible.

“She wasn’t herself,” Jaina tried to explain. “I mean, I know Vereesa can get carried away easily. I know she hasn’t forgiven Sylvanas--”

Alleria cut her off, “Does she have any reason to believe you need saving?”

“That’s just it,” Jaina told her. “She shouldn’t. I’ve been writing her. Things are actually going very well for us here.”

“And how are they actually going for you, Jaina?” Alleria dared to ask.

Jaina closed her eyes, sighing in frustration. Why did no one believe her? Even Sylvanas’ sisters couldn’t comprehend the fact that she had better things to do than to make Jaina miserable. Jaina couldn’t imagine what they’d think if they knew exactly how unmiserable she was last night. “Vereesa is a dear friend. She should know, of anyone, that I would be honest with her. Your other sister is actually a fair ruler, and, if you can believe it, we’re starting to get along. So yes, Jaina is doing just fine, thank you.”

Alleria seemed to analyze her face for a moment before nodding. She then said, “Then Vereesa has to have some reason to think otherwise. She wouldn’t say such nonsense without one.”

“I need to talk to her,” Jaina told her. “She wouldn’t let me get a word in last night and then disappeared. I’ve been trying to find her since. Can I ask you to have your void elves keep an eye out for her? Don’t have them confront her if they see her, just get a message to me about where she is.”

Alleria glared at her again. “You didn’t tell Sylvanas.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Jaina confessed.

“Wise,” Alleria said with a nod.

“I would ask that you do the same,” Jaina added.

“I doubt she’d listen to me anyway,” Alleria sighed. “I’m ‘too close to the enemy’, remember?”

“You’ll do it, right?” Jaina asked again.

“For my sisters, yes. All three of them,” Alleria said, finally breaking her stern expression giving Jaina a little smile.

Just for that, Jaina didn’t let her say goodbye without a hug.

\---

Sylvanas wasn’t listening. She was, but she wasn’t. She didn’t need to, at least. Halduron Brightwing was droning on, giving a report about conditions at the front. Most of it she already knew. The rest of it was hardly interesting. 

Halduron didn’t particularly care for his demotion back to Ranger Captain, even if it meant that Lor’themar was taking his old role back. That he had made explicitly clear, and continued to do so even as he reported with all the fervor of a jar of molasses. 

So Sylvanas didn’t listen. She thought of better things. Fresh memories of the way Jaina’s lips felt against her own, of the fascinating way in which living skin responded to her touch. She thought of the calm that came over Jaina as she slept in the crook of her arm, her mostly white hair a mess, tangling its way across her skin. Not at all like other nights, where Sylvanas had watched her twist and turn with nightmares. No, just calm, steady, breathing. 

She wished she didn’t have to leave, but trying to explain her absence at that morning’s meetings would not have been worth it for either of them. Not at all. She’d done her best to try to reach back to her old romantic self and make sure that Jaina knew she didn’t leave for any negative reasons. Flowers and a note were always good, and had been a standard of her earlier life. A Ranger General was just as busy as a Queen, after all, if not more. The pastries, well, they were more of her continued efforts to make sure Jaina ate at least once a day.

Sylvanas had to do her best to suppress a smile. With her luck, Halduron would be talking about the casualty count if she let that slip. Even at her worst, that would be a little bit much.

She could get used to this. Even if there would inevitably be an awkward chat about it later, she could go for more nights like that. Yes, that would be just fine.

Halduron kept at his droning, but eventually said something that stirred Sylvanas from her pleasant thoughts. “A group of Silver Covenant rangers arrived aboard their own ship into Boralus harbor. We had no manifests indicating their expected arrival. Apparently they were at the front, observing the Isle. Lady Vereesa Windrunner asked for our aid in provided repairs for their ship before they made for Stormwind again.”

“Wait,” Sylvanas stopped him before he could go on with his monotone report. “My sister was at the Isle? I don’t recall the Silver Covenant being authorized to approach.”

“I’d question it too if I didn’t meet her for myself,” Halduron told her. “She said she was there at the behest of King Anduin Wrynn.”

That couldn’t be right. Anduin never seemed to know how to handle either of her sisters. Like most people, he treated Vereesa gently, as if she would fall apart at any moment. He would be the last person to ever order her near the front. 

“If anything,” Sylvanas said, trying to hide a growing sense of concern with a steady tone, “her and the remaining Quel’dorei would be the among the worst possible scouts you could ask for. They’re susceptible both to the madness of that place and to the influence of any magic it might contain. Plus Anduin has my other sister and her void elves. Maybe he’s seen the light and has decided to agree with the rest of us that she can’t be trusted after what she’s done to herself. Still, Vereesa?”

“She didn’t explain much more than that,” Halduron offered. “I assumed they were moving artillery or some other large cargo over that she didn’t want to talk too much about, but their ship was too small. It was actually a scouting vessel.”

“I wish you’d mentioned this earlier,” Sylvanas sighed, trying to add an air of annoyance to cover her alarm. That was easy enough for her. 

Halduron shrugged. “It didn’t seem important, just a little odd. They were underway shortly after the repairs were completed. None seemed worse for the wear. I’m sure they kept to the safety of the boundaries.”

The mages at the front had been busy lately. Just weeks before, they had completed their work on a system of magical markers in the ocean around the Black Isle, which indicated a rough barrier that was not safe for anyone but the undead or Alleria’s Ren’dorei to cross. 

If Vereesa had crossed it on this excursion, there was no telling what she would have encountered. In the early days of their fight against N’zoth, the new kingdoms of Azeroth were witness to all kind of madness. The old god’s influence was strong, and never expressed itself in quite the same way. One man in a company of corrupted soldiers might be fine for weeks on end, only to have his form consumed by that of a Faceless One within hours, as he was at home with his terrified family. Another man would look normal, but speak only in a strange echoing tone--screaming constantly of the terrors of the void--only to die a few days later as he refused to eat or drink or sleep. He would do nothing but scream.

Yes, awful things happened to those people. Awful enough to unnerve Sylvanas even, who had experienced enough horrors to last many lifetimes.

“Have someone look into this, quietly. If Anduin commanded it, then I don’t want it to seem like we’re sticking out noses where they don’t belong. If he didn’t, then we need to know who did,” Sylvanas ordered.

“Of course, my Queen,” Halduron replied. 

Sylvanas dismissed him as soon as she could. She needed to think about this without listening to his endless reports as she did so. Thankfully, this was her last obligation for the day. She wanted to go find Jaina, but she needed to reason this out first. 

So she took her time walking back to the royal quarters. She matched the pace of her steps with her thoughts. Slow. Deliberate. 

I had to be as she said before. Wrynn must have lost his trust in Alleria somehow. Vereesa’s Silver Covenant was the next best thing. While not immune to the influence of the void, they consisted of the last of the high elves, and among them highly decorated rangers, mages, and priests. A small, but well-trained and effective force, if they were to keep a safe distance.

Yes, that had to be it. She could only hope that Halduron would report back with such news. Until then, a lingering sense of dread would weigh on her, but that was nothing she couldn’t hide.

To Sylvanas, Vereesa would always be that little girl, crying about a cut on her hand or because Lirath got mud on her dress. No matter how much time passed, she would always be the little sister that ran to her, who Sylvanas would comfort. “It’s not so bad,” she would say. “Don’t cry. You’ll be fine, my Little Moon.”

Was she fine? How many tears did she shed these days?

Sylvanas had given up the right to worry about her sisters long ago, but that didn’t stop her. 

Her hand reached for the necklace she always wore, for the familiar shape of its sapphire. Even hidden under her armor, she knew it well. She would be fine. Vereesa wasn’t that little girl anymore. She could handle herself. She had to have her reasons for being near the Isle. Near it. Only near it, please.

As the door to her quarters came into view, Sylvanas resolved that this was not something Jaina needed to be concerned with. Not right now, at least. Perhaps she already knew. She had been talking with Vereesa the night before, after all. But if she didn’t, it would be an undue concern she didn’t need to deal with. 

It was no secret that Vereesa was a dear friend to her. It was also no secret that if Sylvanas was worried about this, then Jaina would be worried at least twice as much. No, she didn’t need that burden.

But all this thinking had left Sylvanas entirely unprepared. What if Jaina was here already? She hadn’t thought about what she would say to her yet.

Maybe they could just continue the trend of letting their actions speak for them instead? That would be just fine with her.

But the quarters were quiet, devoid both of life and the fires that Jaina so insisted upon. Sylvanas found herself tempted to light one in her room, but thought that might be a bit much. No, it was best not to change anything. Not yet. Not until she was sure that what transpired between them was more than just a fleeting passion. Not until she was sure that Jaina wouldn’t change her mind.

She spotted the tray, still on her desk, still with three roses, but now only half a tart, and her note.

Wait, that wasn’t her writing at the bottom. 

Jaina’s characters were messy and loopy, like those of a scholar that struggled to make their hand keep up with their quick mind as they wrote. 

Just three little sentences, but with them came a hope that Sylvanas wasn’t alone in her affections. To what degree, of course, she couldn’t know. But if this could last, if they could even continue to work together as leaders, or even let something else grow out of it, well, that would make life, or unlife, a bit more tolerable. 

Sylvanas heard her first, as she always did. Jaina had the feet of a scholar too, as she seemed to have no care for how loud her steps were. 

Shit. She still hadn’t thought about what to say. 

Luckily, Jaina beat her to it. “See? I found you,” she said as she stepped through the doorway. 

Sylvanas turned to face her. She found Jaina wearing a strange smile, one she hadn’t seen before. Warm, welcoming, maybe even genuine. Happy to see her. Her, of all people.

“I hoped that you would,” Sylvanas said. Her own lips betrayed her, and pulled into the smile she wouldn’t dare to show earlier. 

But they certainly didn’t betray her when they went in to kiss Jaina again. Yes, actions were better than words here. Much, much better. Even more so when they were returned in kind.


	7. Safety in Numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're ignoring 8.1 spoilers here because I don't like them.
> 
> Also there's more flashbacks, because that's just what I fucking do...

Jaina watched as the wagons of the supply train rolled in. The sun was high and bright over Dalaran, doing its best to melt the snow. It had to be nearly noon now.

Not that she really noticed. No, Jaina had been too busy reliving the night before. Honestly, the wagons could have been full of snarling beasts and not much needed supplies and she would not have even bat an eye.

She was too busy thinking about cool kisses. She was too busy thinking about the odd softness that Sylvanas’ voice had when she wasn't shouting. She was still thinking about the words she’d finally coaxed out of her. Things like “mutual attraction” and “something I would like to continue to explore...privately, if you agree, of course”.

Jaina was too busy thinking about getting comfortable in that dark room--about lighting a little fire in the hearth, taking off her cloak, watching Sylvanas get to work on two nights worth of papers, feeling a little bad about that being her fault. Only a little. It was all the sudden very comfortable. It had been almost like going home.

They just talked again, only this time, exploratory affection was sprinkled in. Jaina talked about Dalaran. Sylvanas shared a memory of the city from well before her time. It was a rare treat to get her to say much about her old life. For that, Jaina rewarded her with a kiss. And then maybe two or three more.

But she let her get back to work. They talked more and traded tenuous touches and glances, almost as if they hadn't just been very much more intimate in that very room just the night before. But it was sweet. Jaina didn't mind at all. 

She didn't even mind Sylvanas teasing her as she yawned twice in the same sentence. She protested, of course, when Sylvanas told her to go to sleep. So much so that Sylvanas got up with a sigh, then laid on the bed herself. Red eyes stared up expectantly at Jaina until she joined her.

They talked more in bed. Sylvanas toyed with the end of her braid. She kept on with little touches--a brush of her shoulder, pushing hair out of her eyes, a quick kiss. It was almost like she was afraid Jaina might still change her mind. 

But she hadn't yet. This was all so adorable, so unexpected. And it was just so nice to do this with someone again, to not be alone as she drifted off to sleep.

Jaina had given up hope on that kind of intimacy being a part of her life ever again. With this marriage, she was sure she had sealed her fate in a lonely life, forever embattled in a daily little power struggle with much larger consequences, should she allow it to get out of hand. She was so sure she had sentenced herself to a life of petty slights and thinly veiled insults.

But now, she felt safe there, amidst the garish satin sheets. Definitely not her color or her choice of fabric, but it was all beginning to grow on her. Maybe it was just the steady crackle of undead energy next to her. Even as she closed her eyes, she could feel it. Once, it had been a sign of danger. Now, it made her feel something entirely different. Maybe not safe. That was a strong word for her still. Maybe something more like appreciated? Watched over. Cared for. Understood. Yes, that one.

They didn't speak of such things, but Jaina knew that the woman next to her understood tragedy. She understood death. She understood sacrifice. In essence, their stories were different, but the same in so many points. Sylvanas knew the pain of the victim of the Scourge. She too was just another relic left in Arthas’ wake. And the years after that had certainly not been easy. Their paths parallelled many times again.

Jaina understood that too, which was exactly why they did not speak of such things.

In the morning, Sylvanas woke her to say goodbye. Jaina didn’t remember too much about that. She did know for sure that there were more flowers and more pastries left behind for her.

She did know that she spent the morning in Dalaran, trying not to grin like a fool, watching wagons and trying to pretend like she was paying attention. She did slightly regret that she wasn’t all that worried about Vereesa. How could she be, when all she wanted to think about were how amazing the last few nights had been?

An unfamiliar voice stirred her from further reveries. “Excuse me, Queen Proudmoore?”

A familiar chuckle sounded beside her. “Good luck getting her attention,” Modera said off to her left.

Jaina shot a quick glare her way before turning to see who was trying to speak with her. 

A void elf she did not know. A woman, ageless as any elf was. “I have a message for you,” she said as she finally caught Jaina’s gaze.

Hmm. Alleria? She must not have been wasting any time in her investigation.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Jaina offered to Modera, who waved her off, seemingly unconcerned.

Not that Jaina had been much help that morning, or really needed to be. She was just supervising.

Jaina led the void elf away from the hustle of Krasus’ Landing, where the wagons were making their way into the city, and back to the mostly abandoned Silver Enclave. There, amidst what was left of the sanctuary that Vereesa has once created for her kind, they could speak freely of her.

“I don’t have much to say, save that Lady Alleria wishes to meet you again where you met before,” the messenger told her. “She says that you will need to know where she is. She is in Boralus again, but this time at the dockmaster’s office.”

Jaina offered a quick thanks before finding her way back to Vereesa’s abandoned apartment.

She created the portal to Boralus as soon as she locked the door behind her. Alleria was alone in the office, waiting beside a ledger. Instead of walking through the portal, she beckoned Jaina to come to her side.

Jaina hesitated. It felt wrong. Even if it was only for a quick moment, secretly leaving felt like a betrayal. Oddly, now more so than ever.

So she just stuck her head through the portal instead. Jaina was well-acquainted enough with magic to handle the odd sensation of vertigo that came from her body being in two place at once. “I don't usually leave without giving explicit notice,” she tried to explain. “Your sister--"

“My sister would be furious to know that you brought me into the heart of New Lordaeron last time, I know,” Alleria finished for her. “And we are not telling her anything about what we are doing right now, so it doesn't matter. Now please, get over here, I have something to show you.”

Well, she wasn't wrong. Sylvanas would probably be more angry about Alleria being anywhere near the capital than she would about Jaina taking a quick portal trip away for a few minutes. Even Alleria’s presence in Boralus, technically a part of New Lordaeron, was barely tolerated, and only because it had become a launch point for the eventual assault on the Black Isle.

So, reluctantly, Jaina stepped all the way through the portal.

Alleria seemed pleased with her decision and offered a sort of sad smile as she made space for Jaina by the large ledger book. “I have an idea, not about where Vereesa is, but why she's doing this.”

Alleria hovered a finger over one entry in the log. Jaina followed it.

_Lady Vereesa Windrunner and crew of 12, The Silver Hawk, 75ft elven brigantine, docking for repairs. Port of call: Menethil Harbor. Destination: Black Isle._

“Why?” was all Jaina could ask.

“I have no idea,” Alleria confessed, “which is part of the problem. No one who saw her in the harbor even questioned her. They thought she was on orders from Anduin or myself.”

Jaina read the entry again. The date was just a few weeks ago. “She shouldn't be anywhere near the Isle. If anything, high elves are probably the worst--"

Alleria cut her off again. “They are absolutely the worst possible being to cross into the danger zone. Elves are naturally sensitive to magic. They crave it. Those that follow her have not had a sustained source of it for years now. They will latch onto anything that even has a hint of the Arcane to it.”

“Which I'm sure N’zoth is well aware of, due to his dealings with your ancestors,” Jaina concluded.

“Exactly. He could offer them madness so easily and they would gobble it up like cake. Not to mention the fact that Vereesa is still grieving. She…” Alleria finally ran out of steam as her eyes found Jaina again.

She must have realized that she didn’t need to explain that suffering to her. Jaina knew it all too well. She and Vereesa had spent a great deal of time grieving together.

Which was why her stomach was in her throat as she said, “I still don't understand why she would go. You are certain Anduin didn't send her?”

“So certain that I asked him myself. Don’t worry,” Alleria assured her as Jaina tried to object. “He doesn’t know anything other than the fact that I heard of it down on the docks, which is true. That’s how I found out about this in the first place.”

“Alleria,” Jaina began slowly. “You realize what this means then?”

She sighed. “I suspect that N’zoth was in Vereesa’s head well before this trip. He didn’t need the proximity to get to her. Like I said, the temptation is always so great. I can't possibly explain it to you, and I know Vereesa. She is strong-willed, sure, but I know how much she needed the comfort a bit of magic would offer her. I wouldn't trade the whispers of the void to experience that hunger again, and that's saying a lot. She should have gone home, made amends, sought out the comfort she needed in the Sunwell.”

“She couldn't,” Jaina told her. “Not after what she's done...and what she did on my behalf.”

Alleria drew in a deep breath. 

“Do you think she's still in New Lordaeron?” Jaina asked, glancing back at the still open portal behind her.

“If it’s N’zoth’s will for her to kill Sylvanas, then I doubt she will stray too far from her target. Luckily for my other sister, she’s no easy mark,” Alleria lamented.

“We can’t just let this happen,” Jaina pleaded. “Sylvanas will kill her if she attacks her. I don't think she will like it, but she will do it.”

“Probably.”

“Can nothing be done to save her then? Don't you care?” Jaina went on. She approached Alleria, just barely holding herself back from reaching out and shaking her.

Alleria sighed again and held up a hand. “Don’t mistake my steadiness for a lack of fear. I grieve for her already, but I am afraid that Vereesa might try to kill me next if I try to save her.”

“Why?”

Alleria looked her in the eye. The weight of millenia pushed against the blue of her gaze, and a haze of the void darkened them in an entirely different way. “She will have to give up the thing she has spent all this time fighting for. The only way for her to rid herself of the influence of the void and its creations will be to conquer it--to become like me.”

Vereesa, who founded the Silver Covenant, who was willing to kill those she had called her kin just a decade prior, who took great pride in being one of the world's few remaining high elves, would have to become a void elf to be saved. “I can’t decide if that’s worse than having Sylvanas kill and raise her instead,” Jaina eventually said.

“I don’t think she would like either option, but you're right, Jaina. We can’t just stand by and let it happen, for the twins, if nothing else,” Alleria said. “But I fear I will risk losing both sisters even if I try to help you.”

“Alleria…” She was right. Jaina knew she was. 

Alleria’s eyes quickly flashed to darkness. She looked far away from just a moment, but then quickly said, “You need to go back. Something’s happened.”

“What? What do you mean?” Jaina asked.

Alleria was still far away, receiving more messages, no doubt. Darkness began to shroud her further. Jaina could almost hear them. Dozens of quiet voices, all whispering frantically. “There’s been an attack. They’re looking for you, trying to get you back to the keep. Sylvanas has ordered it. Wants you safe.”

Oh no. They were already too late. “Was it Vereesa?”

“I don’t know,” Alleria said. Her eyes cleared up, and the darkness surrounding her faded just as quickly as it came on. “But you need to go.”

“Not alone,” Jaina protested. She grabbed on to Alleria’s arm and started to try to guide her back toward the portal.

“Jaina! I really don’t think--” Alleria started to object, and dug her heels in.

“Please,” was all Jaina could say. “For your sisters. Please.”

Alleria let herself be pulled through into Dalaran.

\---

“That’s what they get, charging in like madmen. Sylvanas and her undead have done us a great favor. They’re getting rid of themselves,” Genn said as he passed Jaina the spyglass. They were anchored off of the shore of the newly erupted Black Isle, watching the Horde from afar.

She took it from him and used it to look at the Forsaken fleet, or what was left of it. Only the flagship was mostly intact. The rest of the fleet was already sunk or in the process of sinking. The flagship was falling back, trying to stay in range to allow the survivors to board her.

On the bowsprit, Sylvanas Windrunner herself was fighting. She was keeping the naga at bay, shooting one arrow, then another, then another, in rapid succession. Each was hitting their mark, but it wasn’t enough. For every arrow she shot, another two naga dragged more of her soldiers beneath the waves for good. For every twinge of her bowstring, another eldritch horror climbed from the wreckage of one ship, heaving its way toward hers. 

They had been foolhardy, trying to attack the Isle like this, but Sylvanas must have had some plan for this, some reason. She was always calculating, trying to stay one step ahead of them. Even as the Alliance kept their distance from the new landmass, the Horde went right in to attack it. Reports were all over the place, some saying that there was a great deal of Azerite there, others saying that the Horde was trying to subjugate the cursed inhabitants of that place, to smite their old god and claim dominion over yet another island in the Great Sea.

But now they were losing, quickly and badly. 

Jaina watched as Sylvanas seemed to come to this realization herself. She kept firing, even as one of the horrors began to climb onto her own ship. A look of genuine fear clouded over her, so easy to see that Jaina could make it out even through the distance and a somewhat fogged up spyglass lense. She had never seen such an expression on the Dark Lady’s face before. She’d only known her to show anger, smugness, or a generally aloof and uninterested expression.

But this fear, this was new. 

It scared Jaina more than she cared to admit. Anything that could move the likes of Sylvanas Windrunner was something that the world should truly worry about.

In her panic, Sylvanas didn’t see the horror. The beast was made of too many eyes and far too many limbs. It reached out with a giant, mangled arm, and made to smash the Banshee Queen from her perch at the front of the ship. 

She still didn’t see it. She was firing frantically, still trying to provide cover for the Forsaken soldiers that were making for the ladders to board her ship. Trying to bring them to safety. Trying to save her people.

The arm smashed down directly on her, sending her body flying back toward the ship’s deck. Jaina watched. She should have been glad. She should have rejoiced in the death of a bitter enemy.

Instead, she felt her heart lurch in her chest. Sylvanas had just been trying to save her men. She had died yet again, just trying to protect her people, even when the situation seemed hopeless.

But that wasn’t entirely true. As Jaina watched, the forms of five great Valkyr arose from what seemed like nothing. They carried something with them, between them. Jaina couldn’t see it, but she could see how it burdened the creatures. They cried out, lamenting so loudly that their screams could be heard even from across the sea. Then they too disappeared.

And Sylvanas stood up.

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Jaina said to Genn from where they watched, safely aboard her ship, still not putting down the spyglass.

Jaina watched as Sylvanas began to fight again. She shot the horror that had just killed her clean through its largest eye. That made it lose hold of the ship and fall into the sea. Then she was back to the naga. Back to saving her men. Or at least trying to.

But the fear was still plain on her face, now joined with tears in her eyes. In fact, it was different still. Not just fear. Abject horror. Loss. A grief that words could not capture. The face of someone who had just died for the fourth time.

Greymane seemed to notice even without the aid of the spyglass, “Damn! She just won’t lay down and die, will she? Damn Forsaken witch! How many times can she come back?”

Judging by the expression on Sylvanas’ face, Jaina had to guess that was the last time. She kept that to herself. 

Jaina turned to the helmsman and ordered, “I want you to bring us in range for the long guns. Quickly.”

The helmsman shouted an, “Aye, Lord Admiral,” before he began barking orders to the crew to get the ship moving again.

Greymane gave her an incredulous look, “As much as I appreciate this sudden interest in killing Sylvanas for good, I don’t know if those fiends need any help from us, Jaina. Better to keep your hands clean here.”

“Then you’ll be very disappointed to know that we’re giving them cover fire,” Jaina told him as she handed back his spyglass.

“What?! You can’t be serious!” he snarled back.

“I am very serious,” Jaina told him. “This is my ship. Even if my entire crew objects, which they don’t seem to, then I could just as easily pick this thing up and fly it over to help them. I would suggest you hold your tongue, Genn.”

“But why? Let her die! Let us be rid of her!” Greymane objected.

“If we want to beat this thing, then I think...I think we’ll need her,” Jaina told him.

\---

Sylvanas took a firm hold of the young soldier’s shoulder. His eyes were wild, darting all over the place. He was a young, human man--a boy, really. Far too young for all that armor. Definitely too young to process what he had just seen.

“I’ll ask you again, soldier. Tell me exactly what you saw,” she said, giving him a shake. 

The boy’s eyes snapped to her, then darted to the company of Deathguards that surrounded them. “My brother...is he…?” the boy croaked, eyes still wandering.

“The medics are doing what they can for him,” Sylvanas lied. The boy’s brother and fellow soldier was dead, torn to pieces by the very creature he was trying to save him from. A creature that Sylvanas desperately needed a decent description of.

“Light preserve us,” the youth whispered to himself.

Sylvanas shook him again. “I gave you an order. Tell me what this thing looked like. Describe it as best you can.”

The boy’s eyes finally focused on her for a few solid seconds. “It...was made of darkness. At first it just looked like a person, then--”

“What kind of person? Human? Undead?” Sylvanas demanded.

“I-I don’t know. I didn’t see it first. My brother…” the boy trailed off again, looking distant.

“Your brother cannot tell us now, but you can,” Sylvanas reminded him. “You saw it after it changed then?”

“Yes...it was made of darkness,” the boy repeated.

“You said as much already. What else?” Sylvanas said, shaking him a third time. She was beginning to lose her patience.

“Eyes…” the boy said. “Dozens of red eyes…”

He stared at her, at her own red eyes. Terror claimed his face like a mask, freezing it in place. 

Sylvanas let go of him with a frustrated grunt. She turned to address the officer in charge of her guard. “We won’t get anything else out of him. It’s clear what this is, though. N’zoth has sent one of his corrupted minions to our city, to hunt down our people. This will not stand. Join the others and spread this description. Be cautious around anyone who seems to be acting strange.”

“As you command, Dark Lady,” the sergeant replied. “Do you want me to leave some men with you?”

“I am more than capable of defending myself, as I’m sure you know. Go and hunt this thing down, but get this boy to the healers first. Ensure that any further descriptions that he might utter are passed along the ranks,” Sylvanas demanded.

The undead soldier saluted and helped the boy to his feet. With the assistance of another Deathguard, they steadied him between themselves and fell into formation around him. 

They left Sylvanas alone, just outside the royal quarters. That’s where the thing had struck, at the two guards keeping watch over the doors. There was no one inside, of course. Jaina was in Dalaran, and Sylvanas had been in the war room, meeting with representatives from United Kalimdor to discuss the most recent assault plans. 

But clearly, this thing was looking for either her or her wife, and it was still here, loose in their home. 

Sylvanas and her Deathguards had swept the quarters. Nothing was hiding there. The rest of the keep’s soldiers were busy either hunting the fiend or corralling any non-combatants into the armory, where they could be kept safe. Sylvanas had sent word to Dalaran, requesting that Jaina come back to help defend those that sheltered there. Well, more so that she wanted to ensure that Jaina was also defended. Asking for her help was just a convenient excuse to get her to the safest place possible.

She only hoped that Jaina wouldn’t see through this. Or question it. Or think too much on why Sylvanas’ first instinct when the attack was reported was to protect her. 

There would be time to deal with all of that later. Sylvanas had to trust that Jaina would do as she was asked, and not try to foolishly go after her.

Still, something didn’t seem right. Why would this thing attack alone? What had it looked like, before it changed, that the boys guarding the door didn’t even bat an eye until it was too late?

Sylvanas turned back to the royal quarters, entering the double doors alone, bow drawn and arrow knocked. Maybe she could entice this thing to show itself again. She could end this threat as quickly as it began. She could keep Jaina, her people, and her home, safe.

That was all she ever wanted to do, and it always seemed like she was the only one that could do it.

\---

Sylvanas was used to quiet. Death had brought with it a newfound appreciation for silence. Without a heartbeat or breath to disturb her, even her own body was a bastion of quiet. As the camp around her bedded down for the night, she awaited her tent to become something like the same. There was no need for a crackling fire, after all, or bubbling kettle. Just her, and an enchanted lamp that emitted only a soft greenish glow, and no sound. 

Oh yes, and Jaina Proudmoore, tossing and turning in her bed in the back. Always mumbling or making soft little grunts of pain. Night after night, she ruined that silence with her constant nightmares. And that was when she did sleep. When she didn’t, she was full or arguments. Suggestions she would call them. 

Sylvanas didn’t need suggestions. She needed her silence back. It had only been a week. Did she now have, what, maybe forty or fifty more years of this to look forward to? Jaina would definitely need to find some place else to sleep, if this didn’t stop. Surely they could find her another tent. Damn that righteous idiot, giving her own tent up for the healers. Surely someone else would take her in, right?

Sylvanas sighed, leaning back from the map she was marking troop movements on, and glanced at the corner of the tent. Sure enough, Jaina was tossing fitfully again, half out of the sheets. 

Sylvanas wondered what it was this time. Sometimes, she could tell, just by the names that were muttered, or even sometimes shrieked out in a manner that would make her own screams seem muted in comparison. Was it Theramore again? Sylvanas had hear both the mana bomb and Rexxar’s attack on the city plenty of times already. So many, “Father!”s and “Rhonin!”s. 

This time, though, Jaina’s cries were still soft. She didn’t fight the covers, or wave her hands around like she was casting spells, as she sometimes did. She just tossed and turned.

Sylvanas wondered what would be worse, sitting through another nightmare or waking her and having to deal with her nonsense again?

Finally, a coherent word came from the bed. Soft and simple, “No.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sylvanas replied, even though the dreaming Jaina wasn’t talking to her. 

No, it would be worse to wake her. Sylvanas didn’t need to be lectured again this night. Let her suffer in her nightmares. Sylvanas would just have to learn to block out the noise of them.

Jaina quieted for a moment. Maybe she was settling back down again? Hopefully not waking up.

Sylvanas sighed and turned back to her map.

Just as she set pen to paper again, Jaina started up again. This time crying. Sobbing. Her voice shook as she said, “I’m sorry, Arthas. I can’t watch you do this.”

That name. 

Sylvanas lost herself for a moment. Her pen stained the map beneath it with a large blot of black ink as she froze. 

Her first reaction was anger, of course. How dare this girl presume to have nightmares about that bastard? He didn’t kill her. He didn’t tear her soul from her body and use it like a child’s plaything for months on end. He didn’t keep her body in an iron coffin to torture her with. He didn’t take away her free will.

She didn’t try to stop him either. That much Sylvanas knew. Jaina let him go. She let him become what he would become. 

And now her map was ruined. Great. Fantastic. Another night’s work rendered useless by these cursed nightmares.

Through the sobbing, another, “No!” came from across the room, louder this time.

Jaina started to thrash about violently in the sheets.

Sylvanas shook herself out of that anger enough to finally let go of the pen. Her hand was stained with ink too. Lovely.

“Arthas! No!” Jaina cried again in her sleep.

Expect this time she fell out of the bed.

Well, that had to have woken her. Now Sylvanas wouldn’t know any peace.

The relative quietness that followed told her she was right. Sylvanas didn’t pay it any heed. She found herself a bit of cloth and did her best to wipe the ink off of her hand. She made a point of not looking in Jaina’s direction, mostly to save both of them the embarrassment of it all.

All she could hear from that side of the room was frantic breathing. Like a terrified animal, cornered by hunters. Or maybe something like a woman who felt as if she was about to die. It reminded Sylvanas of the sounds her own body made, just before Frostmourne sank into her flesh. 

For that, she hated them. She hated each and every breath, because it was too much like her own. The ones that Arthas had robbed from her. 

What had he taken from Jaina?

Sylvanas finally turned to face her. Jaina’s eyes were open wide. She was trying to collect the blankets that pooled around her on the floor, to hold them to herself like some sort of shield. She wasn’t quite awake yet. The dream seemed to still be very much with her.

“You’re safe,” Sylvanas told her. “He’s not here. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you.”

She was only glad that she didn’t need to sleep. Her nights would probably be filled with worse terrors than this.

The fear disappeared from Jaina’s eyes. The mature, rational woman returned behind them. She stood up. She collected her blankets. She tossed them back on the bed, but didn’t dare return to them.

“I…”

There was no explaining. Sylvanas knew that well enough. She didn’t demand an answer. She just continued to try to get the ink off of herself.

“Thank you,” was all that Jaina could arrive at. It was all that she needed to say.


	8. Monsters Within and Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M FREE!!!
> 
> ...to write more gay shit now that this is done.

“This is not the armory,” Alleria said as she stepped out of the portal and threw back her hood.

“Of course it’s not,” Jaina replied. Her voice, quiet though it was, echoed through the dark and empty ballroom. Only a tiny bit of light slipped past the thick curtains that covered the windows when the room wasn’t in use, giving the ornate room an eerie grey cast. “Did you really think I was going to bring you there?”

“My sister ordered you to go there,” Alleria reminded her as she scanned the room to make sure they were alone.

“Sylvanas asked me to go there,” Jaina corrected her. “And I’m sure that once this is all over, she will understand why I did not.”

Alleria chuckled under her breath. “You’re so sure about that?”

“Like I’ve been saying, we have developed...an understanding,” Jaina replied, cutting herself off from saying anything else. “So yes, I’m sure.”

Alleria didn’t object further, but put her hood back up all the same. “So now what? We go hunting monsters?”

“I figured that would be familiar territory for you,” Jaina said with a nod. She readied herself, summoning a few ice lances over her shoulders to prepare of the worst. They caught what little light filled the room and reflected it with a pale blue glow.

“Right, I’ll just walk around with my bow draw in a place where I am not welcome,” Alleria huffed.

“Alleria,” Jaina said, finding an odd steadiness in her voice, in spite of all the adrenaline that was coursing through her in that moment. “Please. I need you here. Let’s track down whatever this is and worry about apologizing for it later, okay?”

“And if it’s Vereesa?” Alleria asked.

“We capture her and figure it out from there,” Jaina told her, repeating the plan that they had concocted between portals. Or, well, what one might be so bold as to call a plan. “Now the guard will be busy with protecting the people sheltering in the armory, or also looking for this thing. Just...stay out of voidform, so you’re not mistaken for anything you shouldn’t be.”

“You’re saying this like you don’t plan to be with me,” Alleria said as she cautiously drew her bow.

“If you follow the main hall from here and continue to make lefts, it will bring you back to this room,” Jaina told her, indirectly confessing the part of the plan that she hadn’t shared.

Alleria sighed.

“We’ll cover more ground this way,” Jaina went on. “If you don’t find anything, just wait back here for me.”

“Dare I ask where you’re going?” Alleria groaned.

“To find my wife, I think,” Jaina told her.

Jaina was pleasantly surprised when they left the ballroom and Alleria actually went left, and with only one quick glare over her shoulder and another little huff as she did so.

Jaina went right, summoning more arcane energy to her command as she quickened her pace. She knew exactly where she was going. She didn’t know why she knew that Sylvanas would be there, but she just did. That was where she always was, after all. It made sense.

So Jaina didn’t bother to look into any rooms along the way, or light up any shadowed corners of the hall. She went straight for the royal quarters.

But she didn’t make it there.

A shape caught her eye. A woman running down a side corridor. Jaina didn’t see enough of her to be able to gauge of she was a guard or not, but she was alone. Jaina was pretty certain that she was the only one stupid enough to be off on her own right now by any sort of choice, so destination be damned, she went after the woman.

“Miss!” she said as she ran down the hall. “You’re headed the wrong way. Everyone has been ordered to shelter in the armory.”

But the figure was already well ahead of her, running off now toward a dead end of unfinished rooms. And it was laughing. Just barely. Ever so faintly, but still laughing.

“Miss!” Jaina cried out again. “Please! It’s not safe here.”

The woman hit the dead end, coming to a stop in front of a large barred door that would eventually lead to...something. Jaina wasn’t even sure where this was. She suddenly felt very disoriented.

Then the figured turned around, revealing its familiar face--silver-blonde hair, dainty elven features, but its eyes were closed. When those eyes opened, they bathed the entire hallway in a bright orange-red glow, almost as if it had been set aflame. “You should listen to you own advice,” the thing that took Vereesa’s form told her. It even spoke with her voice.

“Vereesa,” Jaina found herself gasping. 

She had expected something horrifying, as she’d witnessed at the front--tentacles, scales, all the features of a conventional monster. But this, this was far worse. It was just her friend, but clearly not anymore. 

“I told you before,” Vereesa’s lips spelled out. “I’m all you have, Jaina. Nothing else in this world is true. We are the beginning and the end. This struggle of yours, of Sylvanas and her undead, is only a temporary annoyance. Our victory will come eventually. Why not be on the winning side? I will give you this one last chance.”

“No!” Jaina shouted out, readying her ice lances, but still hesitating to use them on what could be left of Vereesa. “How long have you had her? Why? Why did she give in to you?”

Jaina found herself suddenly wracked with guilt. If only she hadn’t left Vereesa behind. If only she had written more, or asked to visit. Still, how could she know? How could she possibly understand?

Jaina had lost so much to the mana bomb, but she really only thought of it in terms of her own loss. But Vereesa, she had lost her husband, the father of her children, and the love of her life. To her, that must have been worth more than any city. 

In that moment, it seemed so clear. If only Jaina could go back and warn herself. She wouldn’t know what to do still, but she could know. She could offer something, anything.

“Vereesa,” she said again, almost whispering this time.

“She will eventually betray you,” the creature went on. “Sylvanas has no kindness left in her. She doesn’t want peace. She only cares for victory. Even if she were to defeat us, which she won’t, she would just move on to another conflict, or cause one, if she must. If you were to get in the way, then you would just be another casualty. You know this to be true, Jaina. Help me rid this world of her and her warmongering ways.”

Jaina felt her resolve tighten. Her hands were crusted over with a thin layer of frost crystals. The energy she was holding in them burned at her, just as the frost did. It grounded her. “That’s where you’re wrong. Ask me the same thing a year ago, and I might have gone for it, but I know what she is now, and I know why you’re here, N’zoth. You’re afraid of her. You’re afraid of all of the undead because you can’t control them.”

“I have no fear of her nor her army of shriveled corpses,” the creature scoffed. It looked mildly ridiculous coming through with Vereesa’s haughty elven mannerisms, but that only served to unsettle Jaina further. “There is more in this world that I can control than I can’t. I fear nothing.”

“Why did you take her sister then? Why are you after her? You are afraid,” Jaina repeated. “You know...you know that you’re lying. You know that she’s no warmonger. She will protect her people at all costs, and you want to stop her before the whole world becomes her people.”

The creature heaved a sigh that was far too heavy for Vereesa’s small frame. “Don’t say that I never gave you the chance, Jaina. You could have ended her tyranny once and for all.”

The figure began to dissolve, slowly flowing into the long shadows the red glow of its eyes cast along the hall. 

“No! I won’t let you take her!” Jaina cried, flinging an ice lance it’s way.

But she was too late. Vereesa’s eyes closed again, shrouding the hallway in darkness, a darkness which she seemed to melt into. Jaina rushed up to where she was standing and cast a simple magelight spell, which only revealed rough-hewn stone beneath her feet, made wet by the remains of the shattered ice lance, and nothing else around her. 

Jaina felt tears sting at her eyes. Their best hope now was that N’zoth had somehow created an illusion of Vereesa, but that still didn’t explain why no one had seen her since the ball. Alleria had explained on the way to the keep that she had found out that Vereesa’s twins were away at a mage training camp for the next month, sent there as a Winter Veil gift from their mother, who was normally reluctant to let the boys out of her sight for any longer than necessary.

Perhaps it would be the last gift she ever gave them, but Jaina was still determined not to let that happen. 

She whipped around, shining her light down the hallway, only to find another Windrunner sister at the end of it.

Alleria ran up to meet her. “There you are! I heard shouting. Is everything all right?” she asked.

Jaina shook her head. “I found Vereesa, or at least her body. N’zoth seemed to be controlling her, but she got away. She just...became the shadows and melted away…” The words were thick in her throat, burning her like some sort of caustic syrup. “We have to...we…”

Alleria reached out and grabbed her shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. “I know. We’ll find her, Jaina. Did he speak through her? What did he say?”

Jaina found her resolve again. The biting cold of her hands reminded her of the task at hand. She swallowed, finding her voice again. “He’s definitely using her to get to Sylvanas. He wanted me to help, kept trying to convince me that getting rid of Sylvanas was the right thing to do.”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Alleria said with an odd little smile. She gave Jaina’s shoulder another squeeze. “Let’s go find my sisters then. Together this time.”

Jaina nodded. Her light still held aloft, ice lances still ready, she lead the way to the royal quarters.

\---

Sylvanas was back in her room again. Unlike the past few nights, it wasn’t filled with surprisingly pleasant company, or even the anticipation of such a thing. No, she didn’t normally enter her own quarters with an arrow knocked and waiting to slay some void-corrupted creature. This room was supposed to be a place of rest, of solitude.

Well, it hadn’t been that lately either, but the alternative was just fine too. Sylvanas found a little smirk twitching at her lips as she noticed once of Jaina’s cloaks still flung over the footboard of her bed, but her eyes retained their laser focus, checking all angles of the room. 

There was nothing here. No sign of disturbance even. Whatever creature this was, it worked fast and left little behind. She couldn’t even be sure if it had done anything besides kill the guard at the door. Sylvanas didn’t like that. A ranger tried and true, she preferred her prey to leave a trail of easy to follow tracks and signs. 

But the intent of this thing was clearly not to be hunted. It was to intimidate and terrorize, and so far, it was doing an admirable job. But it needed not to be doing it in her home.

Was this home even? When she thought of home, wasn’t it still the proud heights of Windrunner Spire, rising over the unspoiled forests of Quel’thalas, with her family surrounding her, all alive and well? That would never not be home. But was it possible to have two homes?

A noise stirred Sylvanas from her musing. Inelegant footsteps, padding their way to her. Of course Jaina hadn’t listened. Oh well, at least she was here.

“I thought I told them to send you to the armory, but I suppose I should have know that you wouldn’t listen,” Sylvanas mused as she turned to face her.

But she didn’t find Jaina behind her. Instead, it was a face that didn’t often turn her way. She’d caught a few indirect glances from it, here and there, at various events that they had both attended since the end of the wars. Even now, her youngest sister wouldn’t look at her. Her eyes were closed. 

“Vereesa?” Sylvanas asked. Why was she here? She had been for the ball, but that was days ago now.

Unless…

“Little Moon, you used to call her,” Vereesa’s voice answered, but something about it wasn’t right. The pace of her speech was off. She spoke Common, not their shared native Thalassian. “She loved you so, always wanting to be where you were, doing the things you did. Little Shadow would have been a better nickname, don’t you think?”

Before Sylvanas could open her mouth to ask a question, Vereesa answered it by opening her eyes. They lit the room with a fierce reddish orange, like firelight, and very unlike the cool blood red of Sylvanas’ own eyes. 

Sylvanas found her question turning to a snarl instead. “What have you done with her, old god?”

“What she asked,” the creature spoke through Vereesa’s lips. “She was so alone, you know. Abandoned by her family. She had no love left for you, and had so long since mourned Alleria that she didn’t know how to approach her anymore. Your Horde killed her husband. Alleria stole her followers. All she had left were her boys, and they were growing up so fast that they hardly needed her anymore. So I gave her what no one else would--a purpose, a family. In the void, we are all one. Well, except for you and your dead, of course.”

“My sister would never give in to you willingly, N’zoth. That much I know,” Sylvanas told the thing. “She is as stubborn as any Windrunner.”

“Was,” it corrected her.

No. That couldn’t be. Sylvanas watched it carefully. She saw the chest rise and fall, drawing breath. She had to believe that, if the body remained, there was still something of her little sister inside of it. Maybe pushed aside, but still there. Still to be saved. Even if she were dead, Sylvanas knew that that wouldn’t be enough to truly snuff her out. No, there was still hope.

That was the only thing stopping her from filling it full of arrows. She held her bow level with the creature that occupied her sister’s body, arrow ready, but with all the hope that it wouldn’t need to be fired.

“If only her big sister hadn’t been such a monster, or committed such unforgivable crimes…” the old god went on. “Maybe it wouldn’t have come to this for poor Little Moon.”

“Do you think this is all it takes to stop me?” she asked it. “Do you think that this will do anything more than make me hate you more, or redouble our efforts to bring you down? My people are immune to your madness, N’zoth. My sister might not have been, but you have only succeeded in making more of an enemy of me by taking her.”

“Oh that wasn’t why we did it,” the old god said, following it with Vereesa’s vibrant little laugh. “No, not at all.”

“Then why?” Sylvanas asked, lowering her bow to look the thing straight in its horrible eyes.

It laughed again. “Because we learned from her. You, Sylvanas Windrunner, are sentimental. You too are lonely. You want so badly to be with your sisters again, but death has robbed you of the emotions that used to connect you to them. We once thought you to be nearly impervious, a difficult foe, but now we know that you still want so desperately to be loved, and it makes you weak.”

As if to prove a point, the thing lunged at her. Darkness crept over Vereesa’s form, shrouding elegant elven features with flashes of deep black and purple. Her flesh stretched in strange and unnatural ways, fingers elongating into formless tentacles. More and more of those fire-red eyes appeared where the flesh stretched and strained against the bounds of reality. Each of them was focused on Sylvanas.

She raised her bow, but the thing moved so fast. There wasn’t enough time for her to even draw it. She began to dissolve herself into her incorporeal form, trying to escape, but there wasn’t enough time for that even. She was still mostly solid as those eyes reached her.

Only for them to slam closed as the creature let out a bizarrely double-toned grunt of pain. It stopped just short of her, hunched over, with an ice lance piercing through one large eye on the shoulder. 

“Don’t shoot her!” Jaina’s voice cried from out in the hall. 

Sylvanas watched as ice began to crust over the creature, entrapping it. The eyes that covered it and stretched out its flesh closed as the ice moved to claim them, then disappeared altogether, leaving Vereesa’s body to shrink back down to its normal proportions beneath the ice. But Jaina was obviously not taking any risks. She didn’t stop her spell until Vereesa was well and truly encased in a thick layer of ice. 

And she also didn’t hesitate to run into the room and drag Sylvanas into a hurried embrace as soon as she was done.

Sylvanas ignored the instinct to stiffed up, and instead reminded herself of who this was, and what she had just done. She returned the hug, saying, “I believe you might have just saved me yet again, Jaina.”

“Then you did know about that first time,” Jaina muttered against her hood, still not letting go. 

“It was pretty obvious. Your ship was hard to mistake,” Sylvanas told her. “But how did you know about this? Vereesa--”

Jaina cut her off with a quick kiss. “I will explain, I promise.”

“You had better be ready to explain a lot more than just that,” a new voice sounded from the doorway.

Sylvanas looked over Jaina’s shoulder to find her other sister staring at them, thankfully with normal blue eyes. But wait, why was Alleria here? She and her void-corrupted kind were the last thing that Sylvanas want to see right now. She moved to object, but Jaina put a finger to her lips to stop her.

“I can also explain why Alleria is here. Please, just listen, okay?” Jaina pleaded.

Sylvanas shot a glare at her older sister, but looked back at Jaina’s earnest expression and found that any anger in her began to melt away almost as quickly as it had boiled up.  
A year ago, this would have been high treason. She would have found a way to string Jaina up for this, to be rid of her and her attempt to control how Sylvanas would behave and run her part of the world. 

But a year can change a lot. 

Sylvanas turned Jaina around to face Alleria, but kept an arm around her shoulders. “Well? Start explaining then, to both of us.”

\---

Spring had taken hold of the world outside. It seemed like it would never come. Below the windows of the royal quarters, lumberyard was being cleared away, leaving mostly mud in its wake. But even there, amidst the wreckage of mule and kodo tracks, of broken logs and piles of sawdust, a subtle splash of green was beginning to take hold. Little white peaceblooms were shooting up all over, like the weeds they were. Useful weeds, yes, but still weeds.

Sylvanas felt like she hadn’t noticed the seasons change like this for quite a few years. Sure, they must have continued their march as time passed around here, but if she did ever notice them before, it was only with annoyance that her living soldiers were complaining over the summer heat, or that a march was delayed due to heavy winter snows.

But watching from her room--from their room--she was beginning to notice the little signs again. Soon, the flowering trees would bloom. After that, the pines would dust everything around them with the fine yellow dust of their pollen. Migrating birds would return to sing in those trees. Lordaeron would keep trying again and again to reclaim this land that had been so marred by death with all the signs of life. She had just chosen not to notice them before, but it happened all the same.

“It should be warmer there. I don’t think I’ll need the cloak,” Jaina continue prattling on behind her. 

She was always talking, always chattering about something. Silence was a thing of the past. Sylvanas had made peace with that. Even in her sleep, Jaina wasn’t silent. Though her dreams were quieter these days, she still snored. 

But that didn’t mean Sylvanas hadn’t become used to the sound, that she didn’t worry on the odd night that the body next to her was silent in its slumber. 

She turned to face her wife. The room around her had changed, just as the seasons did. It was no longer completely darkened by deep maroons and purples, or spartan in its decor. No, in fact, it was cluttered. Try as she might to keep Jaina’s mess confined to her study, which was what they were now calling the room next door, it still spread into their bedroom. Books were piled everywhere. A scroll spilled across a nightstand. A diagram of a ship’s cannon was tacked up on the wall, overlapping half of a painting. 

The bed was still dark wood, but now it had a plush quilt of deep green on it. Kul Tiran green.

Speaking of Kul Tiran green, Sylvanas finally found Jaina in all of her mess. She was looking up at her expectantly, awaiting judgement and holding up a cloak of the same deep green. 

“I don’t think you’ll need it,” Sylvanas told her. She turned back to the window again to avoid giving her smile away.

No, she had never expected things would go this way. She never expected to be solicited for outfit advice, or to have Jaina sleeping next to her every night, all but demanding her presence.

This was not how she had anticipated her marriage would go at all, but she couldn’t exactly say she wasn’t happy about it. But it wouldn’t be very like Sylvanas Windrunner to show a thing like that so plainly, right?

Behind her, Jaina sighed and threw the cloak aside. Her skirts rustled as she began to gather up some of the clutter that she intended to take with them on this visit. “Well,” she went on, “I guess I’m ready then, if you are?”

Sylvanas was not ready. She would have been content to look at the signs of spring and her wife’s mess for the rest of eternity. That would be so much easier than figuring out what she would say to her sisters, or how she could possibly interact with her nephews. So, so much easier.

Jaina must have noticed that hesitation. She walked over to her, laying a warm hand on Sylvanas’ arm as she joined her at the window. Together, they watched as another mule team came back for one of the few remaining logs. They were moving the lumberyard. Sylvanas had promised Jaina a garden. She was going to give it to her. It was the least she could do.

“It’s going to be strange,” Jaina assured her. “I can’t really offer any advice to make it not strange. But I know that Vereesa has told the boys about you. They’ve asked me too. I’m sure they know a bit more than they let on. I mean, they’re twelve. They’re not exactly babies anymore, and you know how school-age children are. They talk. But they know what you did, for Quel’thalas. I think Vereesa made sure to emphasize that part, of course.”

“I can entertain children, Jaina,” Sylvanas told her. “I believe that’s a skill I’ve still retained from my living days. The twins and Arator won’t be the problem.”

“Arator is in his thirties…” Jaina reminded her.

“Right, children.”

“You are forgetting the human aging factor here. He’s a grown man. Stubborn, like his mother and a little overzealous, like his father, but grown nonetheless,” Jaina told her.

Sylvanas let out a groan. Right. Of course. She was entirely unprepared for this.

Jaina laughed and gave her a little peck on the cheek. “Relax. I am sure your sisters will be on their best behavior, and their children too, whatever age you might picture them to be. They did ask for you to come, after all.”

Yes, they asked for Sylvanas to come visit them. They asked for Sylvanas Windrunner to come sit in the gardens of Stormwind and get to know her family again. A family that mourned her death, then reviled her continued existence. A family that considered her an enemy once, only to boast about her sacrifices now as if they were their own.

No, that wasn’t the right way to approach this. Sylvanas bit back on that anger, on her resentment. She’d learned better. If the seasons could still change, so could she. Static though she was, an icon of her own death, she was still here. She was still in control. Her choices were her own to make. She could choose to forgive. She could choose to love instead of hate.

Gods was it hard, though.

But it was something she could take back. Alleria had seen to that. As she always did, she took care of them all. She and Jaina had worked tirelessly on Vereesa, keeping her under lock and key in the Violet Hold for weeks while Alleria found the part of her mind that remained her own, and showed it how to resist the old god’s influence, how to embrace the void instead of being consumed by it. 

And no, Vereesa had not been happy about it, but she did it anyway. She conquered, as any Windrunner would. She did it for her boys. 

Or so that’s what she said.

But she was well enough now, and back in control. Not happy. Not yet. This visit was part of the plan to help her keep steady, to get to something closer to happiness. 

So, for her sister, for little Vereesa, Sylvanas would try. And for herself too. 

Not to mention Jaina, who was thrilled when she agreed to this visit.

Sylvanas held a hand out to her wife. “Well then, let’s be on with it. Take me to my sisters.”

Jaina gave her a soft smile as she reached for it and held on. Sylvanas noticed that that smile seemed to be reserved only for her these days.

With her free hand, Jaina traced runes in the air, casting a teleport spell around them. The air shifted, becoming warmer, then fading into the gentle spring breeze of another place, of Stormwind.

She dropped them into the middle of a garden. Around them, hedges were sprouting leaves, just beginning to cover their branches with a carpet of green. Flower beds were mostly rich soil, but promised grandeur in the form of tiny seedlings sprouting from the earth. A fountain bubbled off to the side of them. 

And on a few stone benches, still several paces away, were a cluster of elven figures. Two of them shaped very much like Sylvanas. One that was large and broad, clearly more human in his construction, and yes, definitely an adult already. Another two that were small still, and their ears didn’t quite reach so far into the sky as the others as they kicked their legs, waiting impatiently.

“Ready?” Jaina asked her.

Sylvanas tightened her grip on her hand as a response, then took a step forward.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Second Refrain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147957) by [Redisaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/pseuds/Redisaid)




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